


A Necessary Revolution

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Politics, Revolution, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:32:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5481860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being blackmailed by Knight-Commander Meredith, Kirkwall's most eligible bachelor Garrett Hawke makes an appearance at the Blooming Rose, one of the city's most popular Chantry-sanctioned brothels. There he meets Anders, a mage who forces him to face the Chantry's ugly lies, and to make decisions that will change their lives and the lives of all mages in Thedas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I figured the only way to get myself to finish this fic was to start posting, since I refuse to leave unfinished works up. (I hate disappointing people) I'm not sure how long this will take me to get through though I promise it will be finished. 
> 
> For those of you who've read Something Wicked or checked out my profile or follow me on twitter, you already know this will possibly be my last fic for awhile. I really hope you enjoy it! As always feedback is appreciated, thank you.

Hawke disliked the Gallows for a number of reasons. His father used to tell him stories about it when he was little. When he was allowed to speak to his father, that was. Before Malcolm escaped the city. Hawke held no ill will toward him for that. After all, he'd been the one to find and crush his father's phylactery. Not that the templars could pin that on him. Or would. Most of the citizens turned a blind eye when it came to their golden child. Born and raised in Kirkwall, Hawke performed many charitable deeds on a daily basis for the viscount's office and for the city guard. Unfortunately his duties as Kirkwall's errand boy also extended to the Chantry which brought him, on occasion, to the Gallows to speak with Knight-Commander Meredith.

While still relatively new to her post following the old knight-commander's execution, she managed to whip the templars into shape in very little time. Hawke, who had been safely inside the Amell estate during the conflict, heard about everything that happened second-hand with the old knight-commander and the former viscount. Too much bloodshed and too many deaths. He was glad that his father and sister weren't in the Gallows at the time to bear witness to the battle. Of course, it was Bethany's magic that prompted their escape from Kirkwall in the first place. No sister of Hawke's would become what so many other mages became under the Chantry's rule. While slavery was technically outlawed everywhere except Tevinter, there was no divine edict that stated 'companionship' was against Andraste's teaching. Thus, Chantry-sanctioned brothels sprang up in most major cities. Which was where his mother found his father, and later she convinced her parents to purchase Malcolm for her own personal companion.

It was a controversial topic. Chantry brothels. But the better the brothel, the richer the city. And Kirkwall was second to none in the Free Marches. Only Val Royeaux could boast a higher number of 'Chantry houses' per capita. Nobles were expected to indulge and spend lots of coin in these houses, and the only group that spent more time and money than the nobles were the templars themselves. The justification was that Andraste stated magic was meant to serve man, and how better for the mages to serve the people of their city than by doing it on their knees? The coin flowed, the nobles and other clients got their rocks off, and everyone was happy. Right?

But Hawke knew better. While Malcolm had truly seemed to love Leandra, there were whispers of mages who acted out, who tried to kill their clients in the act. Those mages were never heard from again. While some might be willing, how many were forced into it? Hawke remembered when his brother bought himself a companion mage, a pretty Rivani girl with round eyes and short black hair. She was a year or two younger than Carver, which made her the youngest mage whore that Hawke knew of. Carver kept her in his room mostly, but when Hawke did see her she was quiet and reserved. Hawke made sure Carver treated her right. The least he could do was instill some chivalry in his little brother. He thought Malcolm would be proud.

He knocked on Meredith's door, waited to be told to enter, and stepped inside. Meredith was an intimidating woman but Hawke was formidable in his own right. He trained with the city guard, worked hard at wielding a sword, and performed tasks that took him all over the mountains and the coast. It left him with a broad build and strength way beyond the average lazy nobleman. While Meredith wore full templar gear with thick plate metal, Hawke preferred a simpler outfit. A linen tunic, silk doublet, leather trousers and boots all dyed in red and black. A plain blade hung at his hip, the sword he carried with him everywhere, except perhaps when he visited the viscount. You didn't take casual strolls through Lowtown and the docks without a visible weapon, especially when you were dressed as a nobleman.

"I received your letter at breakfast. You had pressing business?" Hawke asked. He wondered truly what she wanted with him. He was friendly with very few templars, those who knew his father or were hoping for Hawke to put in a good word for them wherever he could. But templars didn't frequent the taverns Hawke did. He preferred the greasy holes in the wall like The Hanged Man, and avoided Hightown's classier, snobby establishments. He got enough of _that_ with all the parties his mother threw.

"I've heard a rumor regarding you."

"You don't seem the type of person who gives much stock to rumors," Hawke said. He didn't sit and she didn't offer. Hopefully they could be done with this business soon.

"Normally I would not give it a second thought. However, you are quite influential in the city and I'd like to avoid any trouble with the nobles."

 _You don't want a repeat of your predecessor,_ Hawke thought, but didn't say. "And?" If he had to attend a ball, a hunt, a fair, or some weird new sporting event in order to keep the peace, he would do so. Having the nobles at the throats of the templars and vice versa was a good way to cause a riot. He would go make an appearance, kiss a couple of hands, and then go get drunk with people who actually gave a damn about him.

"There is a rumor that you are opposed to the Chantry houses."

 _Not a rumor if it's true,_ he thought. What he said was, "Oh?"

"Let's not pretend you don't know what this could mean if this attitude were to spread."

Hawke kept a straight face. What he wanted to do was to throw a witty retort, perhaps ask Meredith what the fuck she expected him to do about it. But antagonizing one of the most powerful figures in Kirkwall was probably not the best idea. He remained silent.

"It is suggested that you should start visiting the houses as a show of good faith to the Chantry."

"You want me to go to one of your whorehouses to prove that I'm not planning to undermine your authority?" He wasn't sure he was hearing it right.

"That is correct. This is a request brought down from Grand Cleric Elthina. Both the First Enchanter and I agree."

"...The Grand Cleric wants me to visit a brothel."

"Yes."

She wasn't laughing. Then again, Meredith didn't strike Hawke as someone who laughed a lot or even cracked a smile. Maybe if she caught an apostate or two she'd let out an evil sort of cackle. Even then, it was hard to imagine that stern countenance changing for any reason.

"I'm to spend my hard-earned money on a whore I don't even want?"

Meredith frowned and pulled a coin from her desk. She tossed it to him and he caught it. "VIP pass," she explained. "Try not to abuse it. The houses bring in a lot of money for the Chantry."

"I pay my tithes just like any other noble in this damned city," Hawke said, scowling. "I visit the chantry during service and I recite the Chant with the rest of them. Isn't that enough for you people?"

"You," she said coolly, "are an extremely influential figure among your peers, whether you like it or not. As an eligible bachelor, your choices are to marry and strengthen ties, perhaps with another city in the Free Marches, or do as you are told."

Now Hawke was angry. "And if I don't?"

"Then we may have to reopen a case long since considered closed." She tapped a folder on her desk and flipped it open. Hawke saw a sketch of his father's face and felt his blood run cold. Meredith smirked, and he supposed he was wrong about her facial expression being hewn from stone. "Do we understand one another, Hawke?"

"Yes." He glowered. "We do."

"Have a fun evening," she said, flipping the folder shut.

Gripping the coin, Hawke stormed out of the Gallows.

-

The Blooming Rose was not a bad establishment. Hawke had been inside a few times, but only during the daytime when it was empty. Madame Lusine paid good coin to have things delivered to the brothel and Hawke had been playing errand boy for Grand Cleric Elthina. As making an appearance at one of the Chantry houses was tantamount to announcing he was hard up for a fuck, he decided to soften the blow a bit by bringing the only other person he thought might be more uncomfortable than himself: Sebastian Vael. He met Sebastian at a Chantry service years ago when Sebastian had just permanently relocated to Kirkwall to join as a brother of the faith. Roughly five years younger than Hawke and infinitely angrier, they were never very close but Sebastian did owe him quite a few favors. It was time to cash in.

Hawke sometimes wished Sebastian had maintained his, "Fuck the world!" attitude instead of swallowing the poison the Chantry seemed only too happy to dole out. While he personally believed in the Maker and thought Andraste did right by freeing the slaves, the current way the Chantry was run left a lot to be desired. To hear Sebastian tell it though, all Hawke needed to do was to put his faith in the Maker, that He had a plan for all of them. Hawke supposed joining the Chantry and taking a vow of celibacy was another option open to him, but that would mean stepping down as heir to the Amell line and letting Carver take over. Fat chance.

"Garrett, I'm not so sure why you needed me here."

That was another thing that annoyed Hawke about Sebastian. Everyone - even the nobles - accepted the fact that he preferred to be addressed by his father's surname. Though on paper he was Garrett Amell, he wanted a name that meant something to _him_. Amell was a perfectly decent name. After all, his cousin had used it and he stopped the Blight in Ferelden. Hawke worried for his father and sister as they were rumored to be in the country when it happened, and only relaxed when Malcolm wrote a coded letter to inform him that they were safe and elsewhere. The letters were sporadic and short, but Hawke cherished and kept every single one. He might not have been able to see his little sister grow up, but knowing she was safe and not locked up in the Gallows or being kept as some nobleman's pet was preferable.

"Because I've been ordered by your Grand Cleric to make an appearance. And you, by proxy, make me more respectable."

Sebastian chuckled. "I'm sure you're quite respectable without me here."

"You don't have to fuck them, Sebastian." He enjoyed the slightly scandalized look on Sebastian's face before leading the way inside.

The Chantry's influence was apparent immediately on entering. Two statues of Andraste holding bowls of fire flanked the foyer door that led into the main room. They were greeted by two women, both dressed modestly, their long skirts brushing the floor. The women took their coats and offered them each a glass of wine. Hawke took both when Sebastian declined, downed the first, then sipped the second as they strode into the main room.

"It's… nice," Sebastian managed.

The crystal chandelier cast a soft glow around the lavishly decorated room. A thick, plush carpet lay underfoot, several cherrywood tables sat arranged haphazardly, and every one of them had candles and flowers. The entire place smelled rather good too, not too sweet and perfumey, nor like the heavy incense used in the chantry. A boy around Carver's age, not yet a man but far from being a child, approached them.

"Anything we can get you tonight, messeres?"

Hawke flashed the coin Meredith gave him and the boy's eyes widened.

"Right this way. Our best table."

Hawke exchanged a look with Sebastian and followed the boy to a table in the corner with a padded booth. It was cozy and just big enough for the two of them to sit comfortably. Hawke anxiously tapped the coin on the table.

"Something to eat?" the boy asked. "We have a delicious fish stew on the menu this evening. Or would messere prefer something even more savory?" He gestured toward the grand staircase.

Hawke looked up and watched several nobles he knew by face but not by name climb the stairs. They laughed together on the balcony before excusing themselves, disappearing into rooms beyond. He wasn't stupid and the euphemism wasn't very clever at any rate. Nor was he a blushing virgin, which Sebastian was doing his best impression of next to him. While Hawke was aware of Sebastian's past, had even seen him once or twice in the chantry with a lay sister when he first met him, it seemed the Maker removed all the fun bits. Now he was turning red and looking anywhere but the staircase.

"Just supper for now, thanks," Hawke said. "And a bottle of your finest." The lad hurried off to take care of the order and Hawke looked at Sebastian exasperatedly. "Could you try to at least act like you're enjoying yourself?"

"My apologies, Garrett, but despite this being a Chantry-run house, it is still…"

"Look, I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for-" Hawke broke off. Arguing with Sebastian never got him anywhere. "Why did you agree to come if it was just going to make you this uncomfortable?"

"You're my friend. I'm here for moral support." He paused. "Are you going to... indulge tonight?"

Hawke thought about it. It had been some time since he'd been with anyone. When you were an eligible nobleman, you were fairly spoiled for choice. Many young women threw themselves at you especially at balls and parties. And there were always dark corners or unused bedrooms you could sneak off to. The problem was that Hawke wasn't looking for a young _lady_. Which was why he preferred the barracks to the ballrooms, even if burly soldiers weren't much his type either. The anatomy was right, and that's what mattered when you didn't care for your other option and had to be discreet. He was expected to eventually marry and sire an heir of his own. That was a little difficult to do when you preferred men. Not that he would ever tell his family this.

That didn't mean there weren't rumors. He'd heard a fair few about himself and Sebastian, actually. Ones that his mother fielded and quashed. She encouraged him to socialize more, to make sure that Kirkwall saw him as someone who was looking for a wife. He didn't quite have the heart to tell her that he wasn't looking to marry. He might never be. The irony of the situation was that he was happier outside of Kirkwall, even though he did love his home. Visiting Antiva was especially fun. There was always some attractive looking man willing to fall into bed with him. Not necessarily a noble, either. They were usually witty and fun, and enjoyed poking around the shops in the slums for random treasures as much as he did. In Orlais he had to be more careful but his desires were less burdensome there and more accepted, even if nothing more than a night was ever going to come of it. Honestly, if he hadn't been born and raised a noble, and the first child, his mother probably wouldn't even care. Carver got away with loads more than he did, after all.

"Maybe," Hawke said finally. "I don't like the rumors that they force the mages into it."

Sebastian scoffed. "That's all they are, Hawke. Rumors. The Chantry would never force an unwilling participant into this. They volunteer to better serve the Chantry and the Maker."

"They're not exactly praying to the Maker when they're on their knees in here," Hawke pointed out, pleased when Sebastian blushed and sputtered.

Their food was delivered and any conversation about the mages and their 'volunteer' work was put on hold. Hawke was almost having a good time, Sebastian talking about the goings-on back in Starkhaven. The pain for him was still raw, losing his entire family to a mercenary group. Hawke helped track them down and made them pay. The act cemented their friendship, though neither brought it up ever again.

"I wrote to my cousin, and I was thinking of taking a holiday there this winter. Hawke? Are you listening?"

Hawke had been but his attention wavered when the door behind the bar opened. A tall blond man emerged, his chin-length hair hanging damply around his face, fresh from a bath or a shower. He wore black leather pants and a loose, flowing tunic held together with a belt. After he spoke with the bartender he started toward the stairs and Hawke noticed he was barefoot. Not a noble. Hawke knew most of the nobles in Kirkwall. A visiting dignitary?

"Sorry. Just a minute. Don't wait up," Hawke added, setting some coins down on the table to cover the meal before he approached the bar.

"What'll you have?" the bartender asked.

"That man that just came out-"

"He's on special." The bartender looked Hawke up and down, and for once Hawke was glad for his rich clothes. The idea that Hawke wouldn't be able to afford the night's 'special' hadn't even crossed the man's mind. "First time?"

Of course, he might look rich, but not experienced. "In this house," Hawke admitted. He didn't want to seem like he'd never had sex before. The blond man he saw wasn't a noble then, nor a visiting dignitary sampling from the houses. The way the bartender spoke about him, he was as important as the fish stew Hawke had just eaten.

"No permanent damage, no wounds. It's extra for the rough stuff, but the coin'll cover that. If they say their watchword and you don't stop, you get a month-long ban."

The rules took Hawke a little by surprise and he was just a bit disgusted at the last. A month-long ban for hurting someone seemed an awfully light punishment. Regardless, he took out the coin Meredith gave him and handed it to the bartender who gave him a key in exchange. Hawke caught Sebastian's scandalized expression as he walked up the stairs, saluted to him, and quickly finished his ascent. The room was two floors up at the end of the hall, away from the other doors. Heart racing, Hawke approached slowly.

_What are you doing?_

The question echoed in his mind. Before coming here tonight he resolved to make an appearance, to show Meredith that he wasn't opposed to the houses - even if he was - then leave. If he unlocked the door, he would be a hypocrite. He would be contributing to what was wrong with the noble class. His friend Aveline would disdain him. Even though she helped to catch the occasional runaway and return them to the Gallows, she didn't agree with the brothels at all. But there was something about that man… At any rate, he tried to convince himself that he didn't have to indulge. He could go in, talk to the guy, and then leave. With that thought in mind, he slid the key into the lock and turned it.


	2. Chapter 2

"Generally speaking, one does like to close the door after entering a private room."

Hawke mentally shook himself, feeling a bit foolish as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The blond man was sitting on the bed, leaning back, hands splayed on the mattress. His tunic was cut low, the ties undone, giving Hawke a generous view of his chest. There was a casualness about him that Hawke liked right away and when he stood and stretched, Hawke was reminded forcibly of the stray cat that wandered their estate grounds, looking for scraps.

"Quintus let you up?"

Hawke held out the key. "He gave me this."

The man stepped forward, reached out, and took the key, fingers brushing over Hawke's. "I gathered."

Hawke watched him return to the bed, pausing at the nightstand to deposit the key in the drawer and started picking out several jars, smiling back at Hawke. But there was something off about it all. Something that felt not quite right to Hawke and he frowned as the man undid his leather belt, dropping it to the floor with a bit of a flourish.

"Are you drugged?"

The man laughed. "No. No, the Chantry runs a clean house, messere."

"What's your name?"

"Let's start with yours."

"Hawke."

"You remind me more of a mouse than a bird, Hawke."

Hawke scowled. In his everyday life he was respected, somewhat feared. He could quiet a room just by walking into it. And here was this whore calling him a mouse?

"Stop making that face." The man tucked his hair behind his ear, letting his fingertips slide down his neck, over his chest.

Hawke watched, enthralled, and wondered if it was magic. But no, the man was just very good at what he did. "Your name?" he tried again.

"Anders."

"Truly."

"The only name I've known for as long as it's mattered."

Hawke wasn't sure what that meant, nor did Anders seem inclined to want to answer. "Are you here willingly?"

The question, at least, seemed to throw Anders a little. His half-lidded eyes widened in momentary confusion which he covered quickly covered with a smile and he turned away. Hawke received a very nice view of his ass as he crawled onto the bed and rolled over, then beckoned him closer.

"Did you come to my room to talk, Messere Hawke?"

"Yes." It wasn't exactly a lie.

"They say a whore's the next best thing to a therapist. Less expensive, at least. With much better results." Anders drew the hem of his tunic upward, letting Hawke see the taunt planes of his stomach, the light dusting of dark blond hair that trailed down below the waistband of his leather trousers. "We can talk here on the bed."

Hawke crossed instead to a side table and poured himself a measure of whatever alcohol was in the decanter. With his back toward the bed, he heard it shift, the squeak of the floorboards, and felt a tentative, careful hand on his hip. The last time he had sex was quite some time ago. A dirty tavern in Lowtown, some passing bard who didn't care about Hawke's coin or status. They hit it off playing cards and the man followed Hawke to his room. At first Hawke thought it might be to rob him but when the man's mouth sought his own in the dark, Hawke knew they both wanted the same thing. He woke up alone but sated, his coin purse just as full, all organs intact.

"Why did you become a whore?" Hawke asked.

"Why don't we talk about you?" Anders deflected, wrapping his arms around Hawke's waist. He pressed his cheek against the back of Hawke's shoulder.

"I'd rather not."

"Discretion is one of the things the Chantry affords their clients," Anders whispered.

"You're not from Kirkwall, are you? With a name like that and the accent."

He felt Anders stiffen behind him and the arms dropped from his waist. Footsteps retreated across the carpet. Hawke downed his drink before turning around. Anders was looking out the window, arms crossed. In the light of the fire and the night sky, he saw the almost imperceptible frown creasing Anders' brow. Hawke sighed and crossed the room, reaching out to gently touch Anders on the shoulder and felt the instinct that the other man fought hard against. He wanted to punch Hawke. Or at least shrug him off. Hawke let his hand drop.

"My father was a mage," he offered.

Anders closed his eyes as if searching for patience and let out a breath when he opened them. "Mine wasn't." The light, airy, teasing tone was gone. When he turned to Hawke his eyes were no longer soft, but angry. "Why did you unlock my door?"

Hawke took a step away, leaning against the opposite side of the window, contemplating him. "My name is Garrett Hawke. You probably heard it around."

Anders shrugged and crossed his arms, looking out the window into the courtyard below.

"Or not."

Anders sighed. "Yes. Not that it matters to a _mage whore_ who comes to visit them. If you pay your fee, you get the same treatment."

"I was blackmailed into coming here."

Anders scoffed, disbelieving.

"Knight-Commander Meredith-" And Hawke saw how Anders tensed up at the name, "-ordered me to make a show of enjoying myself at the Chantry houses. Said there were too many rumors going around that I was against them. That my displeasure with the houses would spread among the nobles."

"And are you?" Anders asked, looking at Hawke, eyes narrowed as he scrutinized him.

"What?"

"Against the houses."

"Yes."

Anders frowned. "You say that so easily and yet you're here."

Hawke shrugged. "I told you. I was blackmailed. Don't ask me how she did it. I'm not going to add fuel to that fire. The houses are a way for the Chantry to make money that's better than going around Lowtown begging for alms from people who can barely pay to feed themselves. But," he said, interrupting Anders who'd started to speak, "the fact that there are rumors that the mages here are forced into it is enough to put me off."

"And yet you're here," Anders repeated. "In my room, when you didn't have to come up."

Hawke shrugged. "I don't know. I saw you in the room downstairs. Fresh from a bath. You looked…"

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Looked?"

Hawke felt heat rising in his cheeks. "Approachable. Sexy."

There was a hint of a smile. "But you're opposed to sleeping with whores."

"Look, stop calling yourself that. You're a person."

"Am I?" The smile was gone. "The Chantry says otherwise." He looked out the window again and Hawke saw his gaze fall on the large building across the city square. Candles burned in the windows, priests saying their nighttime vigils before sleep.

"The Chantry can suck eggs." Hawke reached out tentatively, taking Anders' hand, and held it. "I can help change this."

Anders looked down at their hands, Hawke's thumb drawing unconsciously over his fingers, and pulled away. "I think you should go."

"Why?"

"Because." Anders shut the window and pulled the drapes. "If you're not interested in having a night with me, then we're both wasting each other's time, and I'm not making any money for the Chantry."

"Which means what for you?" Hawke asked. "Do they punish you?"

Anders, who turned to fluff up the pillows, perhaps for his next client, paused. "No."

"That's a lie." Hawke might not be the most observant man but he could tell when he was being lied to. He stepped toward Anders, stopping just behind him. "What happens if you don't make money? Do you have a nightly quota to fill or some bullshit like that?"

Anders stood straight, back stiff, clutching the pillow. "I really think you should go, messere."

Hawke scowled. He was just trying to help. "Fine."

Hawke reached into his coin pouch. Though the visit was technically paid for already by Meredith, the least he could do would be to make sure that Anders wouldn't get in trouble for his questions. He laid out several gold sovereigns and watched Anders frown at the stack.

"That's more than I'd make in a week."

"Then just tell them I was very satisfied," Hawke said, stepping around the bed to the door.

"Were you?" Anders asked, still clutching the pillow.

Hawke sighed, then turned to look at him. "Let's just say that I'll probably be coming back."

"...I wish you wouldn't."

"It's better than being alone."

"Is it?"

Hawke shrugged. "You tell me. Good night, Anders."

And before Anders could answer, Hawke left, shutting the door behind him.

-

"You were out late last night, brother."

Hawke frowned at the newspaper. He'd been in the library looking to get some peace and quiet before heading out to see if Aveline needed anything. He woke early, breakfasted alone, and was now sipping coffee and catching up on what passed for news. Of course his mother had to find him and interrupt him, taking her usual seat by the fire to knit and talk. He could largely drown her chatter out but Carver's appearance now made that impossible.

"Well?"

Hawke lowered the newspaper and watched Carver flop onto the couch opposite. His companion was nowhere to be seen, for which Hawke was grateful.

"Did you have a good time, dear?" Leandra asked, glancing up from her knitting.

"Sebastian and I had dinner."

"That's not what I heard," Carver needled.

Hawke grit his teeth. "I was invited by Knight-Commander Meredith to assist with the Chantry's tithes via the houses, yes. We went to the Rose. And had dinner," he added, sidestepping the rumor that Carver may or may not have heard. He didn't need a lecture from his mother about how good, eligible noble bachelors should be finding wives and making babies.

"The Knight-Commander herself?" Leandra asked, looking at him with an impressed sort of smile. She glanced at Carver. "You haven't been invited, have you?"

 _Serves you right, you ass,_ Hawke thought, gaining just a little bit of vindictive pleasure as Carver squirmed under their mother's questioning.

"No. But I don't spend my time running errands either. I was busy yesterday."

"Doing what?" Leandra inquired, her knitting now forgotten in her lap.

As fun as it would be to sit there and listen to her interrogate Carver and enjoy the resulting discomfort, he did promise Aveline he would visit. So he excused himself with little fanfare, Carver glaring at him on the way, and walked the short distance to the Viscount's Keep. He remembered how he used to play in the courtyard with Bethany and Carver and a few other children. This was before she found her magic, before all the responsibilities. And while some would look at him and say he was still shirking his duties, nothing would really measure up to those worry-free childhood days.

He nodded to the guards that opened the doors for him, again knowing quite a few of them by sight, though less by name. One he did know by name he greeted enthusiastically as he approached the barracks.

"Donnic!"

"Serah Hawke," Donnic said with a broad smile. They clasped each other's forearms in typical city guard fashion. Though not officially one himself, Hawke helped them out on occasion and even saved Donnic's life once by being in the right place at the right time. "What brings you here?"

"Just seeing Aveline."

At first their relationship was a bit awkward. Hawke knew Donnic was sweet on Aveline, and Donnic, perhaps unsurprisingly, thought Hawke was as well. Hawke arranged a meeting for the two of them at the Hanged Man and when Aveline didn't show up he used the opportunity to set Donnic straight about his own proclivities. Of course there was an awkward moment where Donnic thought it had all been a ploy of Hawke's to ask _him_ on a date. After several apologies and a full explanation, plus several more rounds of drinks, they got to talking and became rather good friends. Aveline did not find the situation amusing at all. At least not until Hawke forced them together. Now, if he understood it correctly, Donnic was courting her. Properly, with flowers. When Aveline explained it to Hawke she threatened to hit him until he stopped laughing.

"The Captain's in a good mood today," Donnic informed him. "Something about catching an import on the docks."

"Carta?" Hawke asked. He was more aware of the lyrium smugglers than most of Kirkwall's nobility. And his relationship with Aveline allowed the guards some extra leeway in gossiping with him. He found out more about his city through the barracks and the Lowtown pubs than in any newspaper.

"Think so. Just the shipment, no names. It's in lockdown right now."

"I always wondered what happened to the illegal lyrium that gets seized," Hawke said thoughtfully.

"It's sold to the Chantry," Donnic said with a shrug. "The money gets used for the guard." He gestured around the barracks. "New equipment, better training, bonus pay."

"Maybe I should've joined up."

Donnic laughed. "Too structured for you, Hawke. And Aveline would-"

"What would I do?" Aveline said, emerging from her office. She looked from Donnic to Hawke and back again.

"Nothing, Captain," Donnic said, straightening up. "Only that Serah Hawke wouldn't do so well under your stringent but fair training."

Hawke stifled a snort. "Got a minute, Aveline?"

She sighed then looked at Donnic. "At ease. Maker, you're not even on duty yet. Here, post this." She handed him the roster then waved Hawke into her office.

"Is she like that in bed, too?" Hawke asked in an undertone

Donnic winked impishly and went to do as he was told. Hawke followed Aveline, shutting the door behind him.

"That serious?" Aveline asked, gesturing at the chair across from her desk.

Hawke dropped into it with a sigh. "How are things with Donnic?"

She raised an eyebrow, looking at him briefly before shuffling papers. "I heard Meredith had you in the Gallows yesterday."

"Is that the rumor now? Do they say how loudly I made her shout my name?" Hawke asked, purposefully crude.

Aveline rolled her eyes and filed a few folders into a cabinet before pouring Hawke a drink. "Watered down. I don't need you on a drunk and disorderly before noon."

"You're too kind." Hawke sipped the wine which was, in fact, more water than wine. "She called me in to warn me about my lack of having sex."

"Come again?"

"That's what she wants, apparently."

"Hawke."

Hawke relented. "She told me that there's a rumor that I don't support the Chantry houses."

"You don't." Aveline finally sat. She picked up a pen and pulled a stack of papers over.

"Apparently if I don't show support, it's bad for business. The other nobles might get ideas."

Aveline scoffed. "Thinking isn't exactly a strong pastime of the nobles here."

"Are they that much better in Ferelden?" Hawke asked, needling her a bit.

"No." A flat, monosyllabic answer. Aveline's specialty. "And you refused her and now she's giving you a hard time?"

"No. I played nice."

Aveline's pen stopped scratching on the forms she was looking over. "You did as she asked?"

Hawke shrugged. He knew Aveline suspected he was involved with his father's disappearance. They tended to avoid the topic as she could claim plausible deniability should she ever be questioned about it. There was little evidence surrounding the case, but what was a few hours of his time to sit in a whorehouse in exchange for keeping his family safe? Still, his conversation with Anders did not seem to want to leave his mind anytime soon.

"All right," Aveline said. "Why are you telling me this?"

"What does the law say about forced prostitution?"

Aveline frowned. "There's always been a grey area when it comes to brothels. For Kirkwall, the house needs to be Chantry-sanctioned."

"And the mages that participate?"

"If you could find one that claimed they were being forced into it-"

Hawke scowled. "Pigs will fly first. What happens if a mage makes a complaint?"

"I… admit I don't know. I assume the Chantry handles that internally. Hawke, do you have evidence of a mage being forced against their will?"

"You know it happens."

"I'm asking if you have proof."

"No," Hawke snapped. "You bloody well know I don't. They're scared, Aveline. If they say no, what happens? Beatings? Tranquility?"

"It's not the place of the guard-"

Hawke stood, more than irritated now. "I'll talk to the Grand Cleric."

"Hawke," Aveline warned, standing as well. "If you start a fuss-"

"What? Going to lock me up? Chase me out of your city?"

"No, you ass. I was going to say that if you start a fuss, make sure you give me advanced warning so I can back you up."

Hawke sighed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "I don't want you involved. I can handle myself."

"That," she said, "remains to be seen."

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "See you later, Aveline."

"Take care, Hawke."

Feeling more unsure and confused than when he entered the office, Hawke left to make plans for that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one saw that I accidentally forgot to mark multiple chapters when I posted the first chapter, right? Right. Moving on. =^_^=


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke didn't ask Sebastian to accompany him that evening when he returned to the Blooming Rose. His conversation with Anders the previous night and the one he had with Aveline earlier replayed in his mind. Anders clearly wasn't happy. He seemed angry. The seduction was an act but not that of a willing participant. And he probably wasn't the only one. But to whom did the Chantry answer? Would Grand Cleric Elthina look into the accusations? If Sebastian's reaction to Hawke suggesting that not all mages were willing was any indication, he thought Elthina would likely kick him to the curb. Meredith would get wind of it and he'd be putting both his father and sister in danger. It was a risk he couldn't take.

But a part of him still wanted to see Anders. He doubted his presence would be welcome with the way they ended their conversation last night. Even so, he would pay for his time regardless of what transpired between them. A part of him was disgusted with himself for thinking that he wouldn't mind if they did more than just talk. Anders was very attractive and very alluring. _But not consenting._ He frowned, pulling open the door of the Rose and stepped inside. His coat was taken and he declined the welcoming glass of wine. Instead, he headed straight for the bar.

"Back again, messere?" Quintus the bartender asked. He looked pleased.

"Is Anders available?"

"He's with a guest at the moment. I can recommend someone-"

"I'll wait," Hawke said, and took a seat. He ordered a drink and something light to eat, watching the room with interest.

Chantry brothers and off-duty templars seemed to comprise a large portion of the clientele. Hawke raised a glass to the knight-captain who blushed cherry red at the recognition and hurried up the stairs. Ten minutes passed. Then another ten, and Hawke became restless. He put some coins down on his table and slipped up the stairs when Quintus had his back turned. The door at the end of the hall was shut and Hawke stepped up to it.

_You're going to either get in trouble, or at the very least piss them off._ Weighing the pros and cons, Hawke was about to knock when the door opened. He caught a glimpse of Anders, his head tilted to the side as his client kissed his cheek affectionately in a parting gesture. The man turned and Hawke recognized the templar. Short dark hair, bloodshot eyes, the man was constantly strung out on lyrium. _Ex-templar_ he reminded himself. Samson was ejected from the order some time ago and was little more than a beggar on the streets of Lowtown. How could he afford a place like this when his all coin went to lyrium?

"Hawke?" Anders gave Samson one last, strained smile before looking questioningly at Hawke.

Samson smirked at Hawke, adjusting his trousers as he walked away. Hawke tried not to let the feeling of jealousy overwhelm him. How dare that junkie touch Anders? How dare he - _Stop it._ He took a breath, getting himself back under control.

"Anders."

Anders opened the door a bit wider for him. "I generally bathe between clients. I assume that's why you're here. Quintus shouldn't have let you up yet."

"I came up on my own," Hawke explained, stepping inside.

"That's against the rules, you know," Anders said, but at least he sounded amused. "Still, I need to go inform him that I'll be occupied for an hour or two. Or…"

"The night," Hawke said, feeling bold. He still had no idea what he was doing. If he just wanted to sit and talk to Anders or if he wanted to do more. Well. He very much did want to do more. But he refused to take advantage.

Anders pursed his lips, looking at Hawke intently for a moment before nodding. "Give me twenty minutes. Help yourself to a drink. And get comfortable if you'd like." He left, shutting the door behind himself.

Hawke slipped out of his boots and socks, the rug thick and soft under his bare feet. The fire was built up, the window shut against the unseasonably chilly night. He crossed to it now to glance out and suddenly realized he could see his estate. He could actually see straight into his bedroom. Bodahn had lit a fire. Frowning, he made a mental note to close his curtains from now on. With that thought in mind, he drew the ones here and turned to examine the rest of the room.

A sideboard with an array of alcohol. A plush sofa in front of the fire. A coffee table with two glasses sitting on it. Nightstands on either side of the bed held vast amounts of bottles and jars and a few lengths of rope and silk. There was a bookshelf full of random tomes, not all of them sexual, either. And in the corner, a locked chest. Hawke assumed it contained Anders' personal effects. But he didn't sleep in the brothel, did he? Hawke always thought the Chantry's employees would return to the Gallows. Then again, with a choice between the Rose or the Gallows, Hawke thought he would definitely stay here.

He glanced at the bed and stopped. It was perfectly made. The pillows were in place, the blanket folded down and inviting. Somehow, Hawke didn't think Samson waited idly by while Anders made the bed. Of course, it was entirely possible they hadn't used the bed. Hawke looked over at the sofa but as he wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Pulling a book at random from the shelf, he started to settle on the sofa before realizing.

_They definitely had a drink here._

He scowled at the glasses on the coffee table as if they were personally insulting him. This was likely the reason clients were staggered, he thought. Time in between to clean up and keep up the illusion that their current client was the only person they'd ever entertained. With another rising bout of jealousy, Hawke wondered how many clients a night Anders serviced. He crossed to the bed and sat, flipping idly through the book as he thought. He should just continue on as Meredith asked, visit the houses once in awhile for a meal. Maybe take Sebastian or Carver. Pay for a night on occasion and keep up appearances. But would he really be all right with that?

The door opened and Anders, changed and freshly bathed, entered the room. He shut and locked the door behind himself and looked at Hawke, seemingly lost for words. "Well."

"I told you I would come back," Hawke said, tossing the book on the nightstand.

"I didn't think it would be so soon." Anders leaned against the door, arms crossed. "What do you want?"

"That's a bit rude."

Anders sighed. "Are you here for my services or did you want to ask more awkward questions that I can't answer?"

"Not questions. Just question. One." Hawke stood. "Are you here against your will?"

"Quintus said you didn't pay him for the night," Anders said and started toward the sofa.

Hawke crossed to him quickly, grabbing his wrist. "Anders."

"Please release my arm, messere," Anders whispered. "This is the first warning."

Hawke let go as if he'd been burned. "I didn't-"

Anders looked at him, eyes narrowed. But behind the anger there was hurt. "I know. But I doubt you would have listened otherwise. If you're not here for sex," he said, sidestepping him and collecting the glasses on the table, "then we can talk. But it's against the Chantry house rules to discuss anything about the house itself. I would have to refer you to the First Enchanter. Or, I'm sure the knight-commander could answer your questions, since you seem to be on such good terms."

"Blackmail is a euphemism for weekly card games, I guess," Hawke said. He sighed. "Fine, I understand. You don't know me. You can't trust me. I promise you I'm not a Chantry spy though."

Anders didn't turn around, but Hawke saw the hint of a smile on his profile as he fixed two drinks in new glasses. Hawke took several tentative steps forward and carefully touched Anders' shoulder.

"What was Samson here for?"

Anders handed him a glass. "What anyone comes to the Rose for." He clinked his glass against Hawke's and took a sip. "The Chantry offers privacy for all its clients. I can't disclose what I do for him. No more than I could talk to anyone else about what I do for you."

"You haven't done anything for me yet," Hawke reminded him.

"That could change, if you want," Anders purred, dropping easily back into his complicit persona. He reached up and played with the buttons to Hawke's shirt.

Hawke frowned as he undid them slowly and stood very still when Anders slipped a hand past the silky fabric. His linen undershirt was a barrier between the soft heat of Anders' fingertips and his own skin. What was worse was that he found himself wanting to give in. To rid himself of his clothing and take Anders directly to bed.

"You wanted the night," Anders said. He put his glass down, and using both hands pushed the silken doublet off Hawke's shoulders. It fell to the ground with a quiet whisper. "You have it."

Hawke closed his eyes, inhaling sharply when Anders nuzzled his neck. "You're trying to distract me."

"Of course I am. That's what I'm here for."

"Will you kiss me?" Hawke looked him, unsure if he was pleased or not to see Anders frowning.

"Kissing is strictly against the rules."

"I didn't realize there were rules here beyond what Quintus stated. No permanent marks and so on."

"My rules," Anders said.

"Did you tell Samson that?" Hawke lifted his chin and Anders took the invitation, hands at his waist, teeth nipping gently at his throat.

"I tell all my clients that, messere."

"Just Hawke," he managed, when Anders bit just shy of painful. He put his drink down to avoid dropping it. "Anders, I don't think-"

"You shouldn't," Anders teased, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. "You should let me take care of you." He took Hawke's hand and started walking slowly backward toward the bed. "So you don't have to think."

"That's not… I wanted to… If you're being forced into this, I can't." Hawke felt a war within himself. His conscience fighting against his libido. Blood rushing away from his brain was making it very difficult to form logical arguments against Anders, who was now sitting on the bed.

"Oh?" Anders said, hands back at Hawke's hips. He leaned in and nuzzled his groin.

Hawke inhaled sharply, cock responding to the touch. "Anders, stop."

Anders looked up, pouting. "But if you let me, I can make you forget all your worries."

Hawke smacked his hands away and forced himself to move from the bed, back to the sideboard. He picked up his drink and downed it in two swallows, wincing at the burn in his throat and stomach. When he turned, Anders was still sitting on the bed, scrutinizing him.

"Look," said Hawke, "I don't want to cause trouble. I'm not going to say anything because I really _can't_ say anything."

"Blackmail."

"I wasn't lying about it."

The playful manner was gone yet again and Anders drew his legs up underneath him. "Tell me what she has on you and I'll answer your questions."

Hawke frowned at his empty glass. He picked up Anders' glass and downed that as well. He could tell Anders. He could tell him the whole thing. No one would believe him because he was a… well. A whore, but that wasn't it. He was a mage. Mages weren't trusted at all. But Meredith might press him for information if she needed something else to hold over Hawke's head. On the other hand, Anders was offering answers in exchange for information that would never hold up in any court.

"I think I should go," Hawke said suddenly. Thinking about his father, what he would say if he knew his son was in the Rose, and he realized that Malcolm… Malcolm what? He would be proud, wouldn't he? That he was trying to get information. Trying to find out the depths of the Chantry's depravity. "I just…"

"Maker's breath," Anders sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. "Hawke," he said, muffled, "what do you want?"

"Sorry?"

Anders looked up. "You should be. You're making things too complicated."

Hawke frowned. "Remember I told you my father was a mage?"

"Yes," he said warily. 

"So's my little sister. When we found out she could use magic, I helped my father destroy his phylactery and created a distraction so they could escape the estate. And Kirkwall. I haven't seen her since she was… Well. It was about ten years ago."

Anders' lips parted, surprise apparent on his face. "You-"

"There's no proof. I was careful. But Meredith is threatening to open the case again and look into it. Which means they'll take up the search again in earnest. A life on the run really isn't a life at all but it's better than a prison."

Silence. Anders looked down and folded his hands, fingers entwined. His shoulders rounded and Hawke wondered for a moment if he was crying. When he looked up though, his eyes were dry.

"I agree."

"My mother bought my father as a companion. I couldn't imagine it happening to Bethany. She would never agree to it, but if the Chantry forces mages to-"

"It's my punishment."

"Son of a bitch! I knew it!" Hawke slammed a fist down on the sideboard, causing Anders to jump. "And you honestly think that I would just take advantage of you?"

Anders laughed wryly. "You and how many others would?"

Hawke glared. "They think you're consenting. That you agreed to this. That the other mages agreed."

"You're an idiot."

The anger ebbed into confusion. "What?"

Anders sighed and shifted, stretching out his legs. "If you think that all my clients believe that every Chantry mage-whore consented to this, then you're an idiot."

"Sebastian wholeheartedly thinks so," Hawke said, though it was a weak argument. "Never mind."

"Friend of yours?" Anders asked.

"Of a sort," Hawke said, and shrugged. "Chantry brother. Never mind."

"I have no doubt that the Chantry believes its own lies," Anders said viciously. He stood. "I was in Fereldan's Circle. But they never forced me into whoring there. I ran away. A lot."

"You were caught?"

"Seven times. After the last, they sent me here for discipline. To become a good little mage. And I've been serving in the houses ever since. The Rose is the first place I've stayed for any length of time."

"Why here?"

Anders shook his head. "No. No, we're not going there."

"Where?" Hawke asked. His head spun a little with information. He had proof standing right before him. Anders was being forced into this. If they told the Grand Cleric… She would find a way to sweep it under the rug. Anders might disappear. Transfer to another Circle or even be made Tranquil. Hawke couldn't let that happen.

_"There,"_ Anders said, closing the distance between them to jab a finger into Hawke's chest. "You asking me in depth questions about myself. That's not how this works."

"How does it work?" Hawke asked, rubbing the spot where Anders poked him.

"You pay Quintus, you come up here, sexual favors are exchanged for coin, then you leave."

Hawke shook his head. "I'm not going to do that. I wouldn't. I'm not like the other nobles who come through here. Anders, this is wrong. You can't honestly tell me you like doing this. Not when you were forced into it."

"I'm a model citizen," Anders said with a little sarcastic laugh. "Do you think the templars keep tabs on the whores that exemplify good behavior and bring in lots of coin?"

"You escaped from the Circle seven times. I hardly think that counts as good behavior." Hawke didn't want to reopen old wounds but he was having trouble trying to understand.

"I haven't tried it here. And I have my reasons. And no," he emphasized, "I am not telling you anything." He paused, then with a sigh he continued. "One of three things happens now. And you don't get to choose a fourth option, understand?"

Hawke was frowning but he nodded.

"One," Anders said. "We have mind-blowing sex. I take care of you to the point where you can't even remember your name. And then you leave."

As good as sex sounded, the mood was gone and Hawke wasn't going to go back on his word. "The second option?"

"You leave right now without sex or anything else."

Disappointing, but perhaps with the night going the way it was, it might be for the best. "And the last?"

Anders frowned. "Andraste's knickers, I can't believe I'm even suggesting this." He huffed. "You stay. We talk more. Perhaps have another drink or two. But we don't talk about the Circle or my past or anything pertaining to the Chantry. Then, depending on how late it is and how drunk you are, you either leave or… you can stay."

"Stay?"

"I told Quintus you would pay through the night."

Hawked laughed. "What if I didn't have the money?"

"You paid enough last night for several nights. I just "forgot" to report it." There was a mischievous spark of life as he said this, and Hawke found himself returning the grin.

"All right."

"All right?"

"The last one," Hawke said. He turned and refilled their glasses. "I could use someone to talk to, after all."

Anders took the proffered glass. "...All right."

Hawke moved to the couch and after a moment's hesitation, Anders joined him.


	4. Chapter 4

Hawke woke when the sunlight streamed through the drapes into his eyes. He groaned and rolled over, cursing the day. Bodahn would be up already, knocking on his door with coffee and a newspaper soon and all Hawke wanted was another hour of sleep. He dragged a hand over his face, opened his eyes, and yawned widely. The room came into focus and he felt momentarily confused, as it wasn't the gold and red decor of his bedroom in his estate. He sat up, the covers falling away from his bare chest and he looked around.

_Oh, right,_ he thought, remembering last night.

He'd gone to see Anders again, perhaps foolishly. After being berated for quite some time by him, Hawke managed to wheedle the truth from him about the whorehouses. Along with that thought came a flash of rage, fists clenching tightly before he forced himself to relax. Anders wasn't here by choice. He was being punished. Not that they talked much more on that subject but the realization, the proof that Hawke had, he had to do something with the information. But what? The sound of Anders stirring on the couch momentarily halted his thoughts. He glanced over, but Anders shifted and slept on.

The night had been extremely pleasant, even if they hadn't done what one would expect to do in a brothel. He remembered telling Anders stories about his childhood with Carver and Bethany, the conversations he had with his father about mage rights, his travels outside of the Free Marches. Anders was an attentive listener and even laughed on occasion. Hawke found he very much enjoyed his laughter. Anything was better than that quiet, sad sort of smile. They drank quite a bit, or Hawke did, and Anders promised it was the most expensive brandy, so he shouldn't suffer too bad of a hangover in the morning. He was right.

One thing they didn't talk about as Anders demanded, was his own past. Though Hawke tried to get him to open up about Ferelden, about the Circle there, all the times he'd run away. Anders simply shut down and took another sip of brandy before Hawke changed the subject. They talked about different philosophies, the Maker and Andraste, the history of Thedas, music and art. For a primarily cloistered person, Anders knew a lot about a lot of things. It happened, Anders said, when one had "a lot of free, quiet time to study." Hawke asked him what he meant but it was another thing that was simply ignored, Anders changing the subject that time.

Hawke realized that he needed to do something. Even if he couldn't save all the mages from the wretched houses, he would save one. Maybe then he could come up with a plan to help the others. Force Sebastian to listen to him. Together they could catch Elthina's ear. It was a long shot but he needed to try something. He would definitely feel better with Anders out of this place at any rate and away from other 'clients' who visited. He could book him every night, but that would get expensive and even Hawke didn't have an infinite well of coin, Meredith's VIP pass or not. Mind made up, he finally swung his legs out of bed.

Anders was still asleep on the couch, blanket over top him, one arm thrown up over his head. His mouth was slightly open, hair loose around his face. Hawke reached down, brushing a lock off his forehead. Anders stirred, muttered something in his sleep, and turned over.

_He shouldn't be allowed to be so damn gorgeous,_ Hawke thought. Any other circumstance, he would have slept with Anders in a heartbeat. After their talk last night, Hawke thought he would take him to dinner as well. A proper date. Not that he had many of those he actually enjoyed. Not with his mother still expecting him to marry. _Ah fuck. Mother._ She was going to be livid if he bought Anders. Not just that he was buying a whore, but a _male_ whore. The rumors would increase, but at least not the ones about how he was opposed to the houses. Meredith should be pleased.

"Hawke?"

Hawke blinked. He hadn't realized how long he'd been staring at Anders, lost in thought. He smiled. "Morning."

Anders sat up and stretched. He was still fully clothed, or rather as clothed as he was the previous night. "I thought you would have left by now," he said. He stood and started to put the room to right, folding blankets and making the bed.

"What? Sneak out before dawn like a thief in the night?"

"You would need to steal something to be considered a thief," Anders pointed out, fluffing the pillows.

"That's not what friends do."

Anders straightened, frowning. "You need to rethink that."

"What?"

"Friends."

"So friends don't sit up with one another, having drinks and talking about old times?" Hawke asked. He picked his shirt and doublet off the floor and started to dress.

Anders closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. His irritation was almost cute in a way. "You can pretend if you like. People will expect it."

Hawke frowned. "I'm not pretending. I like you, Anders. I want to help you."

"Please don't. If you come back tonight, I'll have Quintus recommend someone else."

Hawke wasn't sure how Anders could be so receptive the night before and now he was once again very icy and closed off. "I don't want someone else."

Anders shrugged, though he looked a little lost. "A whore is many things to many people. And I'll remind you, cheaper than a therapist as I said the first night you entered my room."

"Don't call yourself that," Hawke insisted.

Anders shook his head, that sad smile returning. He crossed the room and opened the drapes, letting in even more sunlight. "You are a nobleman. I am a mage whore."

Before Hawke could stop himself he closed the distance between them and grabbed Anders' arm, whirling him around. "Don't call yourself that!"

Anders had the audacity to laugh at him. "Or else what?"

"You can be free. Like my father," Hawke suggested. Though he doubted he would be able to get away with the same trick twice. And they would definitely look for Anders. He could go with Anders and keep him safe. Then what? They could be fugitives together? It was a thought. He could find out where his father was and join up with him and Bethany. But there was his mother and Carver here, and his friends. Would he give that up for Anders? Someone he just met and barely knew?

Anders was glaring. "You have strange ideas about a great many things," he whispered, pulling his arm away. "I can't leave. But you should. Now."

Hawke wanted to argue, but didn't. Instead he pulled on his socks and boots and left the room, hurrying downstairs to settle any debts with Quintus before gaining the street. Outside, he felt like he could breathe again. There was a spark of life in Anders that he saw last night. He knew it was there. But when Anders spoke this morning it almost sounded like he'd given up a long time ago. Maybe he had and last night was just an act. Somehow Hawke didn't think so.

Decision to purchase Anders made - and that just sounded wrong in his head, buying a _person_ \- he headed off first toward his estate to bathe and change and perhaps field some awkward questions from his mother. Then he would go to the Gallows and fill out the necessary paperwork to have Anders transferred to his estate. After all, Carver had done it fairly recently. It was a quick process. If all went well, Anders would be there by dinner and they could talk about the next steps to take in getting him his freedom.

-

"Oh, dear, when you said you purchased a companion," Leandra started, frowning.

They were in the library of Hawke's estate, Bodahn standing awkwardly to the side of the room after letting their guests in. Hawke dismissed him and he eagerly hurried off to be useful elsewhere. Carver and Leandra were sitting on the sofa, the former looking positively tickled with the new development, while the latter stared at the newcomers, her lips set in a thin line. Hawke stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed. Anders, holding a small box of personal possessions, remained quiet, standing at Knight-Captain Cullen's side.

"The paperwork is all in order," Cullen assured him, handing Hawke a thick stack of folded papers. "Knight-Commander Meredith was a bit wary with your choice."

"Why?" Hawke asked, taking the papers. He tossed them on the coffee table.

"We've had, ah…" Cullen cleared his throat. "A bit of trouble with him for quite some time. If you were to reconsider, there are others-"

"I don't want others. And I'm sure Anders would prefer it if you didn't speak about him as if he wasn't here. That'll be all, Knight-Captain, thank you," Hawke finished quickly. "Carver can see you out."

"No, I won't," Carver huffed.

Leandra glared at him.

Carver sighed. "Fine," he huffed. He stood and bowed mockingly. "Right this way, ser."

The glare from his mother softened and Hawke held up a hand before she could say anything. "I know what you're going to say."

"Do you? Because if you did, I'd think that you would have reconsidered your choice before bringing him here."

"He's standing in the room, Mother," Hawke growled. "Or do you think he should be treated like a piece of the furniture? You certainly didn't feel that way about Father-"

"Don't," Leandra said evenly, "speak to me of your father."

Hawke wanted to press the issue. He wanted to point out that Malcolm loved her, that she loved him. That she fought to keep her children when Malcolm got her pregnant not once but twice. And how hard she fought to make sure they were Amells, that they would have an inheritance. But Hawke knew that Malcolm's leaving had a harsh impact on Leandra's view of the houses, of mages in general. She blamed Bethany for taking him away and she blamed Hawke for letting it happen. It was only that he worked so hard to make sure she was provided for, that he put on airs and played her game, entertained hopeful young ladies, that they were able to keep a civil house. He'd gone and broken that tentative peace by buying a male mage companion.

"We will speak on this more later," she said, and her tone implied it was more of a threat than a promise. "Go. I'm sure you'll want to get him settled in."

"His name is Anders," Hawke said, getting in one last defiant jab before he gestured for Anders to follow as he left the room. "Bloody hypocrite," he muttered, leading Anders through the estate. 

The master bedroom, which had been his grandfather's before it was his, was thankfully located at the rear of the house and contained its own private bathing chamber and sitting area. If Bodahn brought his meals for him, he wouldn't ever need to leave the room. But his mother insisted on family meals when Hawke was in the city.

He shut the door and locked it once they were both inside then sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning to look at Anders. "You can put your things wherever."

Anders, who had stayed quiet, dropped the box at his feet and looked up at Hawke, glaring.

"Er," Hawke tried. "Are you angry?"

"Why would I be angry, messere?" Anders said in a quiet, even tone.

"Well, I mean, you dropped your box and you're kind of looking at me like you want to shoot me with lightning."

"That would be against the rules unless you asked for it," Anders continued in the same tone, expression hardening further. "Are you asking for it?"

"What? Maker, no!" Hawke exclaimed. "Just… why are you angry? I thought you'd be happy getting out of that shithole. Now you don't have to do anything you don't want."

"Except be your companion," Anders seethed.

"Uh, well," Hawke said, losing steam quickly. Angry Anders was slightly intimidating. But why was he angry? He still hadn't explained it. And Hawke was doing him a favor. He should be grateful, not pissed off. "Only strictly speaking. It's not as if the templars are going to check to make sure we're having sex," Hawke said. He crossed the room to close the curtains as an afterthought. The templars could be spying for all he knew. Meredith wasn't overly pleased with him for his choice according to Cullen.

"Well," Anders said, "I suppose that makes it all right then."

"I thought you would be grateful!"

It was the wrong thing to say. Anders narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, mouth set in a thin line.

"That's not what I meant," Hawke sighed heavily. "When my mother bought my father, she was infatuated with him. They fell in love. It was a good thing. Carver… he just thought the girl was pretty. I was trying to do something good. I can't buy all the mages, so-"

"Why not?"

"That's… that's not even remotely possible," Hawke said, baffled.

"You claim to want to help us," Anders replied, shoving his box aside with a foot, arms uncrossing as he stepped closer to Hawke. "So why not help us? All of us? Why just me?"

He was close enough to kiss and Hawke, despite knowing how wrong it was, wanted to kiss him. He'd wanted Anders since the moment he saw him. His mind flashed to the memory of Anders kissing his neck, undressing him, his mouth so very close to Hawke's cock, nuzzling his groin. He shook his head. "We're friends."

"No," Anders said flatly. "We're not. You bought me."

"You're not a slave," Hawke insisted.

"No. I'm a whore."

"Stop calling yourself that! Maker, it's like you want me to look at you that way!"

"Isn't that what you want to do?" Anders asked, stepping forward, forcing Hawke back against the wall. "Forget that I'm here against my will? You bought me so you could play the hero, so you could think you were rescuing me? I know you, Garrett Hawke. I've heard your name many times. You have a savior complex the size of the bloody Amaranthine! But you can't save me. And you can't save them," he said, jabbing a finger at the window in the direction of the Rose. "So what do you plan to do now? Pat yourself on the back? Have a celebratory drink with your Chantry brother friend? Talk about how Maker damned noble you are because you _saved_ a mage _whore_ from being taken advantage of?"

Hawke opened his mouth to retort, to tell Anders that's not what he'd planned, but stopped short. He realized that's exactly what it looked like to Anders. That despite what he'd done for his father and sister, one more life in the grand scheme of things didn't matter much. How many others were forced against their will? Not just here in Kirkwall, but everywhere, in every Circle in every country in Thedas? Was it really that hard to understand Anders' point of view? How could he, Hawke, expect him to be happy with the arrangements when so many of Anders' people suffered in silence?

"Now you get it," Anders said viciously. He stalked back to his box, picked it up, and banged it on Hawke's desk before rooting through it.

"I didn't think…"

"You didn't _listen_ ," Anders corrected, turning to glare at him again. "Though I suppose you didn't think, either. Doesn't seem to be a talent of yours."

Hawke agreed silently, watching Anders pull clothing from the box. A few tunics, a couple pairs of linen pants, a worn coat. "There's-" He cleared his throat. "There's room in the wardrobe. I cleared a space."

"Don't expect me to thank you."

"No," Hawke agreed. He continued to watch as Anders put away his clothing and tucked an extra pair of boots at the bottom. The last thing he pulled out was an old worn pillow that looked like it had seen better days. Hawke wisely didn't ask. "I'm going to have Bodahn bring in another bed."

"The couch is fine," Anders said, and proved it by sitting defiantly, hands in his lap atop the pillow.

"Are you sure? If you wanted-"

"It's. Fine." Anders looked at him. "Let's not make this more difficult."

"Right." Hawke sighed. He tentatively walked over and sat down, far enough away from Anders as to ensure he didn't crowd him. "How can I make this up to you?"

"You can't."

"How can I get you to stop being mad at me?"

Anders leveled his gaze at him. "You can't."

"There has to be something I can do. Name it, and it's yours. Anything."

"You think you can solve this with gifts!"

"Any favor," Hawke pressed.

Anders considered this, still glaring at Hawke. "Anything," he repeated flatly.

"Yes," Hawke promised.

"What are you prepared to do?"

The question was ominous. What if Anders asked for Meredith's head on a spike? Or something equally unobtainable? Not that he wouldn't try, of course, but it would be pretty damn impossible. "Anything you want," Hawke assured him.

"Very well."

The silence stretched. "Er. So, what do you want me to do?"

"I'll let you know when I need you to do it," Anders said. "Until then, what are you going to do?"

Hawke sighed. Being indebted to Anders was somewhat terrifying. But he meant what he said. He would make this up to him. "Try to calm Mother down, I suppose. She has hopes of me marrying some pretty girl and raising lots of little Garretts."

"More of you."

"Insufferable, I know," Hawke said, leaning back against the sofa. "I don't have the heart to break hers."

"You're just going to go through with it?" Anders guessed.

Hawke frowned. "I don't know." He laced his fingers behind his head. "I'm not sure it would work. I'd have to take a potion or something. Women aren't exactly to my taste."

"I've always felt love was about the whole person," Anders said, in a tone much softer than Hawke had heard.

"Have you ever been in love?"

"Once," Anders whispered, and he wasn't looking at Hawke.

Hawke, once again, wisely did not ask. The last thing he needed was to accidentally make Anders even angrier. "Are you hungry? You missed supper."

"I'm sure it would have been a lovely affair with your mother glaring at me and throwing out thinly veiled insults."

Hawke laughed. "Oh no, you don't know my mother. She doesn't do thinly veiled anything. I'll get something from the kitchens. Make yourself at home."

"One has to have a home first."

_Ouch._ "Er, right. I was just-"

Anders looked at him, an exasperated, mirthless smile touching his lips. "Go. I'll be fine."

"Right…" Hawke sighed again and headed off to fetch some leftovers, wondering if he would ever figure out how to make Anders happy. Did he want to make Anders happy? He stopped in the corridor with a jolt, realizing.

Yes, he very much did want that.


	5. Chapter 5

Hawke found it rather easy to adjust to having Anders in his living space. He urged him to use the bathing chamber whenever he wished, encouraged him to roam about the estate wherever he liked, save the bedrooms belonging to the other inhabitants, and found it easier to sleep for some reason when Anders was there, dozing on his couch. Anders remained polite if closed off and often Hawke found him gazing out the window or daydreaming. Once he walked in on Anders sitting at his desk, writing something. When he asked, Anders quickly covered the paper and muttered something about it being none of Hawke's business. Hawke didn't ask after that. It was akin to having a skittish cat around. He wouldn't push but he wanted to talk with him more, like they had the last night they spent together in the brothel. He knew it would be a slow process, if Anders even let him in at all.

Of course his mother was no help whatsoever. Hawke left it to Anders whether or not he wished to dine with the family or take a tray in the bedroom. Anders decided to join them more often than not and Leandra always found ways to take potshots at him. She would mention his hair which was too long or his skin which was much too pale. Tonight it was how quiet he always was which Hawke found amusing since Ella, Carver's mage companion, was rarely ever seen and always never heard. He thought he'd heard her speak twice since Carver obtained her and he wondered if that's what his brother preferred.

"There's no need to be rude," Leandra was needling.

Hawke gritted his teeth. "If he spoke, Mother, you would say he was being rude by monopolizing the conversation."

"Nonsense. Well?" she asked Anders. "Anything to add to the conversation?"

Anders gave her a wan smile and took another bite, staying silent.

Hawke sipped his wine, hiding his own smile as Leandra glared. She was about to start in again when Bodahn entered.

"Mistress, there's a templar here."

The change in Anders was instantaneous. The smile was gone, the cockiness from before disappearing at once. He almost seemed to shrink down a little in his chair. Hawke couldn't help but reach next to him and grip his wrist in what he hoped was a comforting way.

"We're in the middle of dinner," Leandra said, gesturing obviously with her fork.

"Yes, I told the gentleman," Bodahn hurried to explain. "But he insisted he speak with messere Hawke."

"Garrett," Leandra corrected him sharply. Then, to her son, said, "Garrett."

Hawke wiped his mouth on his napkin, glad to have an excuse to get out of there. He pulled Anders from the table as well, not wanting to leave him there with his mother and Carver, though a part of him knew Anders would've been fine. "Excuse us."

Bodahn led the way into the hall. "It's a Ser Alrik."

Hawke, who was still holding Anders by the wrist, jerked backward as Anders stopped short. He looked at him. "Anders?"

If Leandra called him pale before, he was white as a ghost now. His eyes were wide in what Hawke identified at once as terror.

Hawke looked at Bodahn. "Tell him I'll be there in a few minutes. Offer him brandy." He waited for Bodahn to leave then reached up instinctively, cupping Anders' cheek. "Anders, what's wrong?"

"Ser Alrik." He nearly spat the name, the fear gone, replaced by utter loathing. "I can't, Hawke." He was shaking his head though just slightly, as if he wasn't in control of himself. "I'll have a thousand meals with your mother but I will not… You cannot ask me…"

"Shh, I won't," Hawke assured him, drawing his thumb along Anders' cheekbone, then letting it drop, realizing how intimate the touch was. "Go back to my room. I'll have Bodahn bring you a plate or… wine?"

Anders nodded. "I... " He shook his head again. "Thank you."

Hawke watched him turn on his heel and hurry away, and wondered what in the Maker's name Alrik had done to Anders to evoke that kind of reaction in him.

-

Though Hawke had often heard the word 'oily' attributed to certain men, men he'd met and some he'd worked with, he never really felt the descriptor fit anyone quite like it fit Ser Otto Alrik. His eyes were the same icy blue shade of Sebastian's, though they lacked his humility and warmth. He maintained a cool, collected composure and if he hadn't been a templar, Hawke thought he might have made a decent politician. At least decent in that he most certainly was a slimy, nasty sort of person that would've done well in office.

"I understand that your estate already houses a mage whore. Before this one, I mean." He swirled his glass, leaning back in the armchair, legs crossed at the knee.

Hawke gritted his teeth but his expression remained neutral. "Ella. My brother's companion."

"Ah yes, the girl. We caught her trying to escape once. Should've been made Tranquil, that one. A danger to herself if you ask me."

"Yes, well, Knight-Captain Cullen gave her a clean bill of health and proclaimed she was fine to be purchased," Hawke said, feeling disgusted with himself as he talked about a girl as if she was a prized stallion.

"We do have to defer to the good captain's judgment. But I didn't come here to talk about your brother's whore."

Hawke's grip on his glass tightened just a little, glad for the durable, thick crystal. Anything thinner and he would've crushed it in his hand. "Right."

"Knight-Commander Meredith was most intrigued when you picked this one."

"So I'm told," Hawke managed, keeping his voice even.

"And did no one tell you his history?"

"I'm aware he came from the Fereldan Circle, nothing more. I assumed he would talk to me about it if he wished." It was, after all, Anders' business what he wanted Hawke to know. Hawke owed him that much, after the huge insult of purchasing him.

Alrik let out a mirthless chuckle, causing Hawke to shiver in disgust. "I don't suppose he told you why, though." He sipped his brandy. "He was close to another mage who also came from Kinloch Hold, an enchanter by the name of Karl Thekla."

Hawke held up a hand. "With all due respect," he said, though it pained him to say it as he meant the opposite, "I'd like for Anders to tell me the tale if he wishes it. It's a private thing."

The cold blue eyes narrowed a fraction, scrutinizing Hawke. "Very well. Just be sure you remember what he is - a dangerous mage whore - and nothing more. Your mother didn't exactly set the best example with her own companion and despite your reputation, you are half-mage yourself."

"Meaning?" Hawke ground out, placing his glass down. Forget crushing it, he was going to throw it at Alrik's head.

"Meaning that your father was a bad sort. And despite having the name of a prominent nobleman, you could potentially take the slippery slope, falling from the graces of this city and end up being labeled what you are - a mage whore's bastard."

"I think you should leave, ser," Hawke managed, temper flaring to the boiling point.

Alrik finished his brandy, set his glass down, and stood. "Ask your whore about Thekla, about what happened after the man got the brand. Keep your nose clean or Knight-Commander Meredith will hear about it."

Hawke waited until Alrik stepped out of his field of vision to shut his eyes, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. His arms ached and he realized he was digging his nails into the plush upholstery of his favorite chair. He let go slowly. The divots in the velvet were visible and he concentrated on them, trying to calm him down.

The words _a mage whore's bastard_ circled his brain. He tried to think of anything else but they stuck, and he wasn't sure who he hated more in that moment: Alrik for saying it, or himself for giving the words weight. His father was more than a mage whore. He was a kind and decent man who gave up a cushy life with the woman he loved and his two sons to make sure his daughter didn't suffer under the likes of men like Alrik.

"Fuck him," Hawke growled. He stood, downed his brandy, and stalked out of the library. He had no desire to finish dinner with his mother and Carver, no desire to do anything except forget about what just happened. He stormed into his room and slammed the door, forgetting that Anders was there and muttered an apology when he realized he'd startled him.

Anders got to his feet, fists clenched. "Is he gone? Are you all right?"

Hawke couldn't focus on the questions and instead picked up the nearest thing to him - a vase full of flowers - and chucked it as hard as he could against the wall. It shattered into pieces, water splashing over the wallpaper and carpet, wildflowers scattered amidst the broken bits of ceramics.

"Hawke," Anders said calmly.

Hawke turned, shaking his head. "I get why you didn't want to see him. Son of a bitch," he swore, hands on his hips, breathing hard in his fury.

"What did he say to you?"

"He tried to tell me your history. I told him it was your business," Hawke added quickly, looking up at Anders to reassure him. "Your past, your secrets. I don't want to know them unless you want to tell me. He mentioned Kinloch and someone named Karl Thekla."

Anders' eyes widened, lips parting.

"I'm sorry," Hawke said. "Whoever he was, whatever he did, no one fucking deserves what happened to him."

"So Alrik told you," Anders whispered. He turned away, crossing his arms, though Hawke thought it was more like Anders was hugging himself.

"Not anything else," Hawke said, wanting to touch Anders, to hug him, to comfort him somehow. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"It's not you fault," Anders said, voice nearly inaudible. "...Thank you for not prying. You could have."

"No, I couldn't."

"A lesser man would have."

Hawke was about to argue, but stopped. It would bring Anders no solace to correct him. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

Anders looked at him. "Am I allowed?"

"You can go anywhere as long as you're with me. In the city at least," Hawke added. "We leave on holiday, I'm sure I have to do something stupid like obtain permission. Fucking joke. Come on." He pulled their coats from the wardrobe as Anders hurried to get his shoes on.

"Where?" Anders asked, lacing his boots.

"Somewhere in Lowtown. Somewhere we don't have to worry about shitty templars and stuffy nobles talking about mage whores and their bastard sons." He tossed Anders' coat to him.

"Did Alrik say-"

"Yes," Hawke cut him off. "And since we're not talking about your past, let's not talk about mine either."

Anders actually smiled. It was a small thing, but it was there. "Agreed."

-

Anders had never been in the Hanged Man before. He'd been in places like it when he ran away from the Fereldan Circle, but after coming to the Gallows he'd never been afforded the opportunity. Ferried from the Gallows to many different whorehouses, he ended up at the Rose finally. Of course he heard his clients talk about places like this and the Hanged Man in particular. Men liked to talk when they were drunk, after all. And if he wasn't careful, he would quickly end up drunk as well. But Hawke kept filling their cups and the brown stew in front of him was heartier and more delicious than the small, delicate plates at Hawke's estate.

"Read them and weep!" Hawke declared, tossing his cards down.

The table groaned collectively and Hawke pulled a pile of coins toward himself. He grinned at Anders and topped off his beer. Anders shook his head but felt himself smiling. The happiness was overshadowed by the guilt buzzing around the back of his head amidst his drunkenness. His fellow mages were still locked in the Gallows or in the houses. How many were seeing clients tonight? How many were on their knees getting fucked while he sat here eating his fill and getting plastered off cheap ale?

"You all right?" Hawke asked, filling his coin purse. He tossed a gold sovereign to the dwarf at the head of the table.

"Just… not feeling so well all of a sudden."

"That's the beer," Hawke said. "All right, fellas, that's game for me." He stood, ineffectively hushing the groans and boos that followed. "Have to get some sleep for my busy day."

"Yeah, your grueling day of being a nobleman," one of them piped up.

"Poor thing, all those parties to get to!"

Hawke accepted the insults graciously, grinning as the table laughed, and pulled Anders up and out of his seat rather easily. It took Anders a moment to find his feet and he had to lean on Hawke in order to exit the tavern without falling. Once outside the cool night air hit him hard and the world spun.

"Whoops!" Hawke said, holding onto him as he bent double.

He felt Hawke's hands holding his hair back as he vomited behind a stack of crates. One hand pressed against a wall, he heaved again, trying to keep his balance.

"Don't move," Hawke said, and disappeared momentarily.

A minute later, a wooden cup was shoved under his nose. 

"What is it?"

"Rinse, spit, then take a sip of that to settle your stomach."

Anders did as he was told, ridding his mouth of the sour taste of vomit before sipping the slightly minty flavored water. Hawke took the cup back and set it on the crate, tilting his chin up.

"All right?"

"Better, I think," Anders agreed.

Hawke wrapped an arm around his waist and led him away from the Hanged Man. "Forgot that shit hits hard when you're not used to it. You'll probably have a bad hangover in the morning."

"Nothing magic can't cure," Anders assured him.

"If I had that talent, I would get drunk all the time."

"I can hardly stand it," Anders said, still feeling woozy. It had been a very long time since he'd gotten drunk. Though he encouraged clients to do so, he rarely had more than a glass or two of weak wine in a night, needing to keep his wits about him. He remembered one time in the Circle in Ferelden, Karl had nicked a bottle of some kind of whiskey from Irving's desk.

"Who's Irving?" Hawke asked, and Anders realized he'd been speaking out loud.

"First Enchanter Irving," Anders said. "We drank the whole thing. We got so sick but it was worth it."

"Sounds like," Hawke laughed. "He's a good friend then, Karl?"

Anders frowned a little. Hawke couldn't know. He couldn't know a lot of things about a lot of things. His inebriated thoughts meandered as they walked up the stairs to Hightown. "My lover."

"...I see."

"Former now," Anders sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand over his face. He tripped on a loose cobblestone, gripping Hawke's arm as Hawke kept him from falling. "Former. Tranquil can't… He would just agree because he can't…" His breath hitched and to his utter embarrassment, he started to tear up.

Hawke pulled Anders into a dark alcove, not that the streets of Hightown were particularly busy this time of night, and hugged him. Neither said anything, Hawke holding him until Anders felt too tired, too drained to continue. When he pulled away, Hawke silently handed him a handkerchief and gave him a few minutes to compose himself. They walked to the estate and entered Hawke's bedroom without speaking. The fire was already lit, the windows shut and the curtains drawn.

"Hawke," Anders said, sitting heavily on the couch. He leaned over to try to unlace his boots. "I…"

Hawke knelt at his feet, batting his hands away. "Don't even think about apologizing. I can't imagine what it's like for you. I would think that a good cry is just the tip of it. We don't have to talk about it again. Give me your coat."

Anders did so and Hawke took both his coat and boots to the wardrobe. They dressed for bed without talking and Anders silently accepted the extra blanket Hawke gave him. Impulsively, he reached up and took Hawke's hand, Hawke glancing down at him expectantly. Inexplicably, Anders felt heat rise in his face and looked away, dropping Hawke's hand.

"Good night, Anders," Hawke said, crossing the room and sliding into bed.

"...Night."

Deciding it was the alcohol mixed with Hawke's touching concern, Anders curled up on the couch under the blankets and fell into a restless sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

They spent more of their time out of the estate than in it, Hawke trying to limit the abuse Anders had to suffer at the hands of his mother. Not that he thought that Anders couldn't handle it but there was an overwhelming feeling of guilt that accompanied every insult. He volleyed with his thoughts, that what if Anders would've been better off at the Rose than in his estate. A part of him realized that this sort of paternalist thinking was unfair. Anders was a grown man and he could defend himself. Not to mention what Anders himself might say if Hawke brought it up. He thought they had a decent night out playing cards and drinking, almost as if they were friends. There were many questions he wanted to ask after the night took a rather maudlin turn, but he promised Anders they wouldn't have to talk about it. Anders wasn't inclined to bring it up. Though he didn't seem as angry as he was prior to Hawke's encounter with Alrik, he still remained as quiet as ever.

Hawke watched him now as they sat together in one of Hightown's popular eateries. They sat outside despite the slight chill in the air, the wind rustling Anders' papers. An empty plate served as a weight to keep the finished ones from blowing away and Hawke longed to ask him what he was working on. A letter to Karl? Did Tranquil care for letters? He wasn't sure and he didn't want to upset Anders by prying. Hawke caught a few words off the top page, a line about Andraste and the reign of mages. He frowned and looked up, flustered when he realized Anders was staring at him.

"You can ask if you'd like," Anders said, dipping his quill in the inkpot once again.

"I didn't want to interrupt."

"So you'd prefer to read over my shoulder?" But there was no malice in the question, only a hint of amusement.

"Technically speaking-"

"It's a turn of phrase, Hawke," Anders interrupted. "I'm writing to the grand cleric. Not that she'll listen."

"You've gone through a stack of paper already," Hawke noted.

"If it's a matter of paying you for the vellum-"

"No! Not at all." Hawke knew it was a point of pride that Anders hated to accept any of his money. Being the heir to a very large fortune, money was no object to Hawke and he actually liked spending it on his friends. "Just that I'm not sure she's going to read all seventy-six pages. Might not having time between force-feeding her flock all the self-righteous nugshit she spews."

There was the barest hint of a smile. "Drafts," he explained. "Trying to get the wording right."

"I see. May I?" Hawke asked, gesturing at the paper and quill.

Anders frowned, a slight crease between his eyebrows. He tapped the quill a bit anxiously, then slid the letter over. Hawke took it and reached for the quill, reading it over.

"Did you learn how to read and write in the Circle?" Hawke asked gently, scratching out a word here and there, replacing sentences that were too straightforward, that Elthina would view immediately as aggressive.

"No, my mother taught me."

"Your grasp on grammar is perfect. I've known some noblemen who can't write half as well as you. She was a good teacher."

"...She was, yes."

"My father taught me and I had a tutor for everything else." Hawke chanced a glance at Anders. He was watching Hawke make marks on the paper, still frowning. "Elthina doesn't like being wrong," he explained, pulling his chair around to sit next to Anders. "If you're accusatory straight away she'll immediately shut down."

The frown deepened. "I'm not writing this to spare her feelings."

"And I'm not saying you should," Hawke agreed. "But if you want people to listen to you, you have to know how to talk to them. You don't need to butter her up but show her the respect that she thinks she's entitled to. She's a grand cleric, after all."

Anders snatched the parchment back. "What do I care?"

"Well," Hawke said, eyebrows raised, "I assume you want her to listen to you and not write you off as someone unreasonable."

"So it's unreasonable to want freedom?"

"That's not-" Hawke sighed. "No. It's not, and that's not what I meant. Your arguments are strong, too strong for anyone to actually see your points beyond the anger. And," he added, "before you ask, yes, I think you have every right to be angry."

Anders huffed, sitting up straighter. "You don't know what it's like."

"No," Hawke agreed, "I really don't. I do know how to talk to people who think they're better than everyone else though. Shall I finish?"

Hesitating, Anders read over the bits Hawke changed, then tentatively slid the paper back to him. "You said you would do what I asked if I had a favor."

"Of course," Hawke said, wary. "But I'd like to avoid punching nobles in the middle of Hightown in broad daylight. Can we wait until the cover of darkness?"

The smirk was almost a smile. Anders shook his head. "Nothing that overt, but likely twice as dangerous."

"Danger is my middle name."

Anders gave him a look.

"Well, no," Hawke said. "It's Malcolm. Mother did it solely to annoy her father. But she did give Carver grandfather's name. Aristide. And now you have something to hold over Carver if he ever annoys you."

"I'm sure he'll be completely devastated by my newfound knowledge. Truly he shall run away in tears as I address him by his full name."

Hawke shrugged. "Worked for Mother."

The smile was genuine but gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a pensive, tentative frown. "It's a letter to someone in the Gallows."

"Karl?" Hawke asked without thinking.

The frown turned into a pained look and Anders dropped his gaze. He pulled a folded paper from his coat which was sealed with a bit of wax. "It's for a templar named Thrask."

"I know him," Hawke said, taking the letter. Having attended Chantry services weekly, not to mention the myriad of charity fundraisers, Hawke found himself familiar with quite a few members of the Chantry and templars. Thrask was good for a conversation not centered around religion and mages and all the other things the templars seemed to want to talk about. "Friend of yours?"

"The less you know, the better."

"Sounds shady." Hawke quickly yanked the letter away when Anders grabbed for it. "I'm not going to ask."

Anders eyed him critically. "You'll take it to him? Straight to him?"

"I promise," Hawke assured him. "We'll go right now if you want to."

"We?"

"I assume that you can't just waltz up to a templar and give him a letter yourself. Might draw suspicion into… whatever it is you're doing." Hawke desperately wanted to ask. There were a lot of things he could think of that would be in the letter. Gossip about Hawke himself, his family. Perhaps a note for a clandestine meeting. If Thrask was another lover of Anders' or a former client. The jealousy that surged at the thought was rather absurd and he found it amusing that he would be more bothered if Thrask was one of Anders' clients than if Anders was passing information about his family to the templars. "But I also suppose you don't want to go to the Gallows," Hawke realized.

Anders looked away, capping the ink bottle. He folded the spoiled pages and slipped them into his coat. "It's not my favorite place."

"You can stay at the house while I make a trip out. Do you want me to…" Hawke trailed off. He was going to offer to inquire about Karl, but wasn't sure how Anders would react to the question.

"Thrask might have a letter for me."

"All right." Hawke paid the bill for lunch and walked with Anders through the streets of Hightown, ignoring the looks and gossiping behind gloved hands as they passed.

"You don't seem bothered by it," Anders said quietly.

"Should I be? Hightown nobles always need something to talk about. Why not the bastard son of a mage and his affairs?"

Anders shook his head. "I don't understand you, Hawke."

"I'm fairly simple." Hawke paused. "I meant that I'm uncomplicated, not that I - hey!"

Anders had started to laugh. "You're certainly that."

Hawke huffed. "I realize there's more to life than cushy beds and rich food and snapping my fingers at people to get what I want. I'd rather have a pint at the Hanged Man than sipping thousand-sovereign bottles of brandy while talking about… I don't know!"

"The latest fashion in Orlais?"

"Maker forbid I have to listen to another dissertation about Orlesian culture," Hawke groaned. He paused. "You must think I'm such an ass."

"I do, but probably not for the reason you're thinking."

"Thanks for that."

Anders shrugged. "Why?"

"Complaining about my lot in life when yours-"

"Don't. It's…" Anders sighed. "It's a distraction from the real issues, yes, but I think I need it on occasion. I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"I could have Bodahn bring in that second bed," Hawke offered.

"No," Anders corrected. "It's not that. I've a lot of things on my mind."

"Like writing important letters to grand clerics who likely won't listen?" Hawke suggested, nodding at the lump in Anders' coat where the folded papers resided.

"Close enough," Anders said evasively.

Hawke realized he wasn't going to get any more information out of him and let the subject drop. They returned to the house and Hawke unlocked the door, letting him inside. "I'll be back in a few hours. If Mother gives you a hard time about using the library, just let Bodahn know which books you'd like brought to the room."

Anders paused with his hand against the door frame, looking as if he wanted to ask a question.

"What's on your mind?" Hawke prompted.

"Your brother's companion. Ella."

Hawke shrugged. "Haven't seen her in awhile. Carver's stupid about it. Thinks that I'd try to steal her away or something. Not likely to happen." He quickly glanced to make sure the street was empty. Though his preferences weren't exactly a secret between himself and Anders, he still found the subject touchy. Especially since his mother was adamant that he should marry and sire an heir soon. _Who am I fooling? All of Kirkwall's probably figured it out anyway._ If they hadn't, his trips out with Anders no doubt cemented the idea in their minds.

"I'd like to talk to her. I knew her in the Circle, before I was sent to the Rose. I never got a chance to say goodbye to her and now that we're living together-"

"Carver's got some party thing in Ostwick next week. I doubt he's bringing her. I'll convince him not to," Hawke declared. It would be one more thing he could do for Anders and maybe remove the last bits of animosity between them. It would be nice if they could at least become friends.

"You would?"

"Shouldn't be too difficult," Hawke assured him. "Lock up. I'll be back soon." He gave Anders a quick smile before turning and heading off toward the docks.

-

Anders could be very patient at times. He found himself alone in Hawke's estate more than a few times since moving in, and made good use of his time writing letters and reading from their extensive library. This was not one of those times. Hawke wasn't on a random errand for the viscount. Anders jiggled his knee nervously, glancing up at the door every now and again. When it opened, he kept his eyes defiantly on the same page he'd been trying to read for the last half hour.

"Have you been in here the whole time?" Hawke asked, shutting the bedroom door behind him. "I talked to Bodahn in the hall. He said you only asked for a cup of tea. Aren't you hungry?"

Anders looked up from the cushion he'd been sitting on in front of the fire, resting the book in his lap. The empty teacup sat on Hawke's desk. "I wasn't."

"Or more like you didn't care to run into my mother while looking for Bodahn again." Hawke sighed. "Give me a moment to change and we'll see what's left over in the kitchens."

Anders didn't argue the point, watching Hawke sit to unlace his boots. They'd been sharing quarters for nearly a month now and while Hawke was polite enough to give him his privacy to bathe and change, he didn't seem to expect the same of Anders. So Anders watched on occasion, glancing up from his writing or the book he was reading. Hawke either didn't notice or didn't care, stripping to his smalls to change into loose-fitting pants and a linen shirt. _Maybe he considers you a pet,_ Anders thought, trying to find the will to dislike Hawke. He was nobility, he _bought_ him like he was a pet. But the intentions were good and the contrition was genuine. Hawke was trying.

"Oh, here," Hawke said, plucking a letter from his coat pocket. "Thrask had this for you. He asked after your health, and Ella's."

Anders took the letter, brow furrowed. "It's still sealed."

Hawke paused. "Er, yes?"

"You could've opened either letter, but you didn't."

"I'm generally not in the habit of reading other people's correspondence. Unless it's Carver's," he added with a bit of a grin.

Anders stood and tucked the letter among his things, an odd feeling swirling in his breast. "Hawke."

"Yes?"

"Did you ask Thrask what was in the letter?"

"Did you want me to?" Hawke sounded confused.

Anders shook his head and straightened. "No. Just that…"

"This isn't the Circle," Hawke said simply. "I'm not going to invade your privacy. Just as I wouldn't expect you to go through my things." He gestured idly at the trunk in the corner of the room containing books and trinkets he'd collected through his travels. "I know the arrangement bothers you. The least I can do is treat you like a person by extending common decency and respect your privacy."

It was a strange and foreign concept to Anders. In Kinloch Hold, mage-apprentices slept in bunks in wide open rooms. Templars walked through them freely, even the bathing chambers. The illusion of privacy was everywhere but there was no actual expectation of it. The Blooming Rose was the closest he'd ever come to it but even there he knew he wasn't free from prying eyes. Hawke locked his bedroom door when they left together and while Hawke could easily go through his private things, he never did.

"Thank you."

It was the only thing to say. Hawke merely shrugged and opened the door, and Anders followed him out to the kitchens. It was late, the house already settled in for the night. Hawke waved him into a chair and began pulling things from the icebox. Anders watched silently as he sliced up a loaf of hard bread. When he finished, he reached for a pot of broth, setting it on the stove.

"Do you want me to heat that?"

Hawke looked at him a moment, confused. Then realization hit. "Oh! Sure. Thank you."

"Forgot?" Anders asked, crossing to the stove, letting a small fireball tumble from his fingertips to heat the pot.

"It's been some time since my father's been around to help with the cooking," Hawke admitted. "Stir this?"

Anders did so, watching him carve apart the chicken leftovers, tossing them in the pot. "He taught you to cook? Where did he learn?"

"Not sure. Maybe he just picked it up. He liked to read and Granny Amell kept quite a few cookbooks but I never saw her actually use them." Hawke perused the shelf above the counter, pulling down small pots of spices, sniffing each before deciding how to season the soup. "They never liked me down here though. Said that cooking was servant stuff."

"In the Circle, we weren't allowed to cook for ourselves," Anders said.

"That's ridiculous. Templars do it for you?" Hawke asked.

Anders laughed bitterly. "No. Definitely not. There were servants. In Ferelden they sometimes stayed at the tower if the weather was bad enough, otherwise they came daily. In the Gallows-" He stopped himself, not wanting to think about the Circle anymore, especially here.

Hawke seemed to pick up on that and peered at the pot. "Grab a couple of bowls." He gestured to the cabinet.

They sat together to eat, the silence growing awkward between them until Anders cleared his throat. "Thank you for take the letter."

"I'm guessing you're not going to tell me what was in it."

Anders dragged his spoon through the soup, watched as the hard bread grew soft soaking up the broth. "It would endanger too many people to tell you that. Just know that I never wanted to get you involved in..." He sighed and the spoon clattered against the bowl as he sat back. "It's not just the houses. It's the Circle. It's not a solution to anything. Locking up mages because they _might_ become possessed by demons is like imprisoning soldiers because they _might_ chop a villager's head off. It's ridiculous."

"I won't argue that," Hawke agreed. "I wasn't lying when I told you about my father and my sister." His voice was quiet, near inaudible though in the empty kitchen the words seemed louder. "I know I was wrong when I… er, brought you here. I thought I would be helping."

"Thrask chose the Rose for me for strategic reasons and that's all I'll say." He was giving away too much already. It was too easy to trust someone like Hawke, someone who seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve. Hawke was open and soft, but it could've been just an act. He couldn't trust him, even if it was hard to hate him. "I think I'm finished. Thank you."

Hawke cleaned up without another word and Anders followed him dutifully upstairs.

"Are you sure you're fine with the couch?" Hawke asked. He stood at the side of his large four poster bed, looking awkward. "We have a camper's cot or… Well, it's large enough for two. Or three," he added, inclining his head at his own mattress.

"I'm fine, Hawke. Thank you." Anders winced, realizing how sharp he sounded. "I appreciate the offer. If it ever becomes a problem I'll take you up on it. One of the two."

Hawke shrugged, still looking uncomfortable, but blew out the candles and slid into bed. "Good night, then."

"Good night, Hawke."

Anders wrapped a blanket around himself, curled up on the couch which was quite comfortable, and thought about the difficult steps he would need to take on the road ahead.


	7. Chapter 7

Hawke delivered several more letters for Anders, never asking what was in them though he was curious. The letters didn't always go to Thrask either. Sometimes he was asked to deliver them to a barmaid in the Hanged Man, a shopkeeper in Lowtown, or a dockworker. In return he received letters to bring back to Anders or small wrapped packages. From the feel of them (Hawke promised he would never open the correspondence, but he didn't see anything wrong with simply checking the weight and dimensions) most were books. As Anders had full access to the library in his estate, Hawke assumed they were books not so readily available to Kirkwall's nobles. At a guess he would have said magical texts and wondered if Anders would let him peruse the pages. When Malcolm spoke of magic it was always a point of fascination for Hawke, though he knew what his mother would have said if he tried to study it on his own.

He decided to ask Anders one evening as they were out enjoying a late stroll through Lowtown, heading toward the docks. "The packages you receive." It might not have been the best opening, Hawke realized as Anders tensed up. "Are they books? I only ask because they feel like it. I don't look," he hastened to add.

Anders seemed to consider this a moment, hands in the pockets of his coat as he walked next to Hawke. The sun was just starting to set which meant all the taverns would be filling up soon. The streets were starting to thin out, merchants packing up their stalls. The stench of saltwater and fish wafted up from the docks, the sounds of gulls calling overhead. Finally as they reached the top of the steps that led from Lowtown, Anders spoke.

"Yes, they're books. Some of them. Please don't ask what the other things are."

It would take a very unobservant person not to realize that something was going on. Smuggling, perhaps? Hawke was sure he didn't want to know all the details and was further sure that Anders wouldn't tell him even if he asked. "On magic? I only ask because my father spoke to me about magical theory and it was interesting. I'd like to read more about it."

Anders frowned. "Why?"

Hawke shrugged, not taking offense to the brusque tone. "Magic is interesting. I grew up with it but I wasn't allowed to ask about it. Mother would've been cross to find out if I tried to study the theory. Where it comes from, why some people can use it and others can't. That sort of thing."

"It's just an honest fascination?"

"Probably hard to believe considering where you've come from," Hawke said. He glanced at Anders and smiled, pleased when it was returned albeit not as exuberantly.

"I don't see anything wrong with letting you borrow my books. After all, it's polite since you allow me access to your library. Do you read Tevene?"

"Er. No. I can read a little Orlesian. And speak some of it, though real Orlesians say my accent is 'orribly atrocious," he said, accenting the last two words.

Anders chuckled. "It is."

But Hawke was pleased with himself for making Anders laugh. With all the time that passed between the two of them, he felt like they'd grown closer. There was an undeniable spark of attraction, at least on his end, and he knew Anders watched him change clothes on occasion. If anything happened between them though, he wanted it to be Anders' choice, not because he felt obligated to. If nothing happened, Hawke would be happy with being friends. Besides, he was the heir to the Amell family. He would need to marry and sire heirs at some point and he couldn't do that with Anders. To ask him to be a temporary lover would be insulting at best.

"I've never met anyone who wasn't a mage who wanted to study the theory of magic."

"There are more than a few of us," Hawke said, a little defensive. "There's that one scholar, what's his name. Brother Geni-something."

"Genitivi. And I don't think he counts. He writes about everything."

"One wonders as to how he has time for anything else," Hawke mused.

They descended the stairs toward the docks with no real direction, simply meandering as night fell. The lamplighters walked with hurried steps to do their duty, the sun setting below the horizon. It made for a rather romantic scene and Hawke's imagination entertained several scenarios, all of which culminated in a kiss from Anders. He smirked, amused by his rather tame fantasies.

"What is it?" Anders asked, looking at him.

"Hm?" Hawke tried to pass for innocent and failed. "Just thinking. About things. Stuff."

"Ah. Things and stuff. Fascinating topics of conversation. Some of my favorite subjects to speak on, things and stuff."

"Haha," Hawke said. "Maker, you're hilarious. I didn't know they made mage comedians."

"They die young," Anders returned easily. "Something about the Chantry not having a sense of humor."

"The Chantry wouldn't know humor if it danced naked in front of them."

"More likely they would call it maleficar and lock it up."

Hawke snorted. The subject matter was grave, but Anders seemed amused if a little angry. He expected that there wasn't much room to allow for open mockery of the Chantry in the life of a mage. "It's Meredith, you know. If she so much as cracks a smile, her face breaks out in a rash."

"Oh is that so?" Anders prompted. He looked at Hawke, eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at him.

Hawke felt his heart beat a little faster, his stomach twisting up pleasantly. "Mmhm. Truth. I'm friends with the guard captain. She said Meredith laughed once - just once - and the entire barracks went deaf for a week."

Anders laughed, knocking against Hawke a little as they rounded a corner. "I bet that was a sight to-"

"Messere Hawke."

Ser Otto Alrik stood at the mouth of the alley. Hawke instinctively stepped in front of Anders who seemed willing to let it happen. He felt Anders touch the small of his back, a reassuring weight but for who, Hawke wasn't sure. He didn't fear Alrik but he did despise the man.

"Something I can do for you tonight, Ser Alrik?" he asked, keeping his tone light and even.

"I think there is," Alrik said, walking toward them.

The hand at his back was gone, Anders stepping away. Hawke however, stood his ground. He crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow, surveying Alrik. He wasn't wearing his full plate armor, dressed only in light leathers. "You could have come to the estate. I believe you know where I live."

"While true, I thought it best we have this discussion in private."

Hawke laughed. "So what, you followed me? Creeping around dark alleys at night, is that what templars do now?"

"Is that what upstanding noblemen of the city do?" Alrik returned. "Or do they simply stick to seditious activities that undermine the Chantry?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're on about."

"Letters. Packages. Missives being passed from your whore to his friends. We've been watching this one for awhile now. It seems he's roped you into his little operation. Oh yes," he said, looking at Anders over Hawke's shoulder. "We know about the underground. How you've been using Samson and Thrask. And that slut in the Hanged Man."

Hawke wanted to look at Anders, to find out from his expression if there was any truth to this, but taking his eyes off Alrik was a death sentence. Who knew what the man was capable of as far as fighting? You didn't get to be a templar just because you looked good in the uniform after all. His own hand fell to the sword at his hip, and he thanked the good sense he had never to leave Hightown without it.

"I will make you a deal," Alrik said, advancing slowly. "Hand over your whore and I won't tell the knight-commander that you were involved."

"I don't really think that's going to work for me," Hawke said. Though Anders wasn't touching him, he could feel the tense anxiety from him, the ambient magic in the air. Anders was either going to set Alrik on fire or run.

"Hand him over or you'll be arrested along with him. You may be able to wiggle your way out of prison, but the whore is going to get the brand for this. Just like his lover did."

"You _bastard_ ," Anders spat.

Hawke held up a hand to silence him. He'd never went up against a templar before, but he could fight as dirty as any street thug. "Again, that's not really going to work for me, Alrik."

"I will give you one last chance. What's the point in tarnishing your name for one little mage? Is his mouth really worth it?"

It seemed that Alrik wasn't going to take no for an answer. Righteous indignation won out over good sense and Hawke drew his sword. Instantly Alrik did the same and lunged forward. Hawke felt his muscles tighten, a white shimmering shield springing up around him. It seemed almost as if the world slowed down around him as he swung his sword to meet Alrik's. His blade was encased in a crackling blue energy as he fought the other man, pushing him back, breaking out into sweat. He lunged, knocking Alrik's sword up, and thrust forward, the steel blade cutting through the leather jerkin like a knife through butter. Dark scarlet blood blossomed from the wound, Alrik's icy eyes wide as he stumbled back, falling to his knees.

"Oh… shit," Hawke whispered.

"Hawke," Anders managed, his voice barely audible. "Hawke we need to…"

"Go to the Hanged Man," Hawke said at once, a surge of adrenaline causing him to panic as the life left Alrik's body. "Go. Get Isabela. You remember - Rivaini pirate. Tell her to come here. Then go stay with Varric. The dwarf. Cardplayer."

"But you-"

"Go!" Hawke snapped, and Anders ran.

Hawke glanced around the alley, not sure what he was looking for at first, then spotted a pile of old rags. He wiped down his sword and resheathed it, thinking he would leave it in Varric's suite or perhaps toss it into the sea. Alrik's body lay just a few feet away, motionless, eyes open and staring. The tan stone beneath him turned red. Unable to stand still, Hawke stalked to the mouth of the alley and back. The sounds of footsteps made him stop and he lifted his sword.

"Fuck's sake, Hawke, put it down," Isabela whispered. She looked behind him. "What a mess."

"He's a templar."

"Oh shit."

Hawke swallowed hard. "I wouldn't ask this normally, but-"

"How many messes have you gotten me out of?" Isabela said, reaching up to pat him fondly on the cheek. "Go away, Hawke. And get yourself a drink."

He nodded, wanting to ask her what she was going to do, but thought better of it. The less he knew, the easier it would be to deny any knowledge of this ever happening. "Thank you." She waved him off and he went, sheathing his sword, trying not to look like he was in a hurry. He climbed the steps to Varric's suite and shut the door behind him.

"You're alright," Anders said, getting to his feet. His fists were clenched. He looked nervous.

"That remains to be seen. Varric," he said, acknowledging him.

"You were playing cards with me all night," Varric said easily, pouring him a drink. "Blondie here lost a lot of your coin when I finally convinced him to play. And then you went home. Drunk. Like a good nobleman should. Now, don't make me a liar," he said, handing the glass to Hawke.

Hawke took it and downed it. He slumped into a chair next to Anders and accepted the decanter from Varric, pouring himself another drink which he sipped slowly. "Going to leave my sword with you," he muttered.

Varric graciously took the weapon, belt and all and concealed it behind the headboard of his bed. "Not going to ask. The less I know, the better."

"Hawke," Anders tried again, dropping into the seat next to him.

"Think I'll get a cheese tray from Edwina," Varric said, taking his leave, shutting the door behind himself.

"It's taken care of," Hawke said. He poured a glass for Anders, sliding the amber colored liquor toward him. "No idea what it is. But drink it."

Anders frowned but took it, sipped, and coughed. "What you did…"

"Couldn't let him take you," Hawke muttered. He rubbed his face with both hands, pressing his palms against his eyes. He tried to get Alrik's dead, staring face from his memory but it seemed to stick there. He looked at Anders who was staring at him with a curious expression. "What?"

"You could have. Let him take me."

"Oh that's brilliant," Hawke said, though his tone lacked any vitriol. "Right-o, Ser Alrik, here you go. Have fun making the innocent mage Tranquil."

Anders winced. He picked idly at a stray splinter on the table. "Not exactly innocent."

Hawke sighed and poured another glass for both of them. "Tell me." He knew when he started passing letters and packages as a favor to Anders that it couldn't have been simple season's greetings. However, Alrik said, 'underground' which sounded ominous and more than a little illegal.

Anders ran his fingers through his hair, the strands falling loosely around his face as he contemplated the glass in front of him. "I'm just going to put you in more danger. You're too close to the guard and the nobility."

"I'd think I'm already there. Considering the templar I just killed."

"I'm sorry. I… it's a long story."

Hawke drained his glass and stood. "Let's go home."

His tone left nothing to argue. While he knew that getting involved further was only going to make things more difficult, he couldn't leave it all on Anders. A logical part of his mind tried to remind him that was Anders' fault that he was in this position in the first place. He should be angry but instead he was just worried. What had Anders gotten himself wrapped up in? Varric waved as they left, Hawke returning it gratefully. The anxiety of leaving Alrik's corpse in the alley was slowly waning with the alcohol and he was sure he would continue this self-medication at home. Thankfully it was late enough that his mother had already retired once they reached the estate.

"All right," Hawke said, closing his bedroom door. He turned the lock, then crossed the room to start changing. He frowned at a bit of blood on his shirt cuff, and tossed it in the fireplace. "Talk."

Anders sank down on the couch, hands on his knees. "When I came to Kirkwall, things were bad. They're worse now. Good mages who've passed their Harrowing turned Tranquil for punishment. Karl-" He choked on the name and shook his head, then changed tact. "Alrik's a sadist. He likes - liked - pushing mages into breaking just so he could have an excuse to turn them Tranquil and then…" He shook his head. "He knows it's harder to get away with it if they're not."

"It?" Hawke prompted.

Anders glared at him. "Must I spell it out?"

A sick feeling took up residence in Hawke's stomach, a roiling nausea. Grim, vicious satisfaction followed. He held no love for Alrik, not after his initial meeting with the man, being called a mage whore's bastard. But now after knowing what Alrik had done, what more he could have done if he wasn't stopped, he was almost proud of the fact that he'd killed him. "I'm glad he's dead," he said quietly. If Anders had gone with him, if Hawke had allowed that, Alrik would've made him Tranquil. Then he would've… Hawke turned away, breathing heavily, trying to quell the anger he felt. He'd always had a temper, but the rage was almost consuming now.

A feather-light touch on his shoulder. He allowed it, and somehow he'd ended up in Anders' embrace. He wasn't sure who was comforting who but they stayed like that for a long while, quiet, just holding one another. Only when he felt calm enough did he pull back to look at Anders. His expression was the usual: sad and silent.

"So the underground," Hawke started carefully. "You save mages?"

Anders nodded. "Mostly the younger ones. The ones who Thrask believes are next on the list to be made Tranquil. The mage your brother bought, Ella."

"You spoke to her." Hawke hadn't been privy to the conversation, but he'd arranged for them to speak once Carver was out of the city.

"I did. She was going to be next before she was purchased. We all hoped she was safe."

"No one should be bought and sold like produce," Hawke said, feeling even more disgusted with himself now. He stepped away from Anders and leaned against the bedpost. "I'm sorry."

"She's well." Anders shrugged. "Not that's any better. But your brother isn't mistreating her. Had she stayed in the Gallows, Maker only knows what might have happened. We aren't always successful in bringing mages to freedom."

"How can I help?" Hawke asked. "Other than taking packages."

Anders frowned. "No, Hawke. Alrik might have been working with others. I won't put you further in danger."

"I think you should let me decide that." He paused, realizing something. "This is why you were so angry when I bought you. I mean," he faltered under Anders' glare. "Additionally. You were running the operation out of the Rose. That's why Samson was there that night."

Anders sighed. "Yes. I suppose… I suppose we have to trust one another fully now."

"Unless you want to run to the captain of the guard and tell her you know who killed Alrik. Of course Isabela's already probably taken care of the body. We're in this together." It wasn't exactly the ideal situation to start a romance, Hawke realized. Nothing about their relationship was conventional.

"Yes," Anders agreed. "That's why Samson was there. And quite a few of the others. That doesn't mean that I wanted it," he added.

"Of course not," Hawke was quick to agree. "You said it was a punishment. What happened?"

Anders crossed to the bed and sat down, hands in his lap. "Karl and I were lovers in Kinloch," he whispered. "When he was transferred here, I tried to follow. I ran away. Before they transferred me here, I spent a year in solitary confinement."

Hawke swore. "A year?"

Anders nodded. "Then I came here and Karl… we had perhaps two conversations before he was made Tranquil." He took a deep breath then exhaled slowly, trying to remain calm. "I reacted out of anger. Set a templar on fire before they could silence me. That's when Thrask talked to me, while I thrown in a cage under the Gallows awaiting punishment."

Hawke hesitated but sat next to Anders, sliding an arm around him. Anders leaned against him. "Thrask gave you the option of the houses?"

"It was that or Tranquility. I'm such a coward."

"No," Hawke said. "Given the choice, well that's not really a choice, is it?"

"I made the Chantry a lot of money," Anders said, sounding disgusted with himself. "I pretended to be the model of good behavior. Thrask sent people to me, people we passed messages through. Organizing breakouts for months. And then you."

"...Sorry," Hawke muttered. "If I had known-"

"Then we wouldn't have been doing a very good job of keeping it a secret." Anders sat upright. "I want to burn it down, Hawke. The whole bloody thing."

"I know."

"You don't warn me against it?" Anders asked, looking at him.

"Maybe it's the idea that my sister could've ended up like that, like Ella or you or…"

"Karl," Anders said and nodded. "But I don't think so. I think you're a good person. A bit stupid, but good."

"Thanks?"

Anders chuckled. "It's a compliment." He cupped his cheek, a familiar, intimate gesture.

Hawke felt the familiar fluttering in his chest, the anticipation of a kiss. It never came. Anders stood, hand dropping away. The disappointment welled as Anders pulled pajamas from the wardrobe, and Hawke dressed for bed as well, keeping his back to Anders for privacy's sake.

"Hawke."

He turned. Anders stood at the foot of the bed, hand on one of the posts, looking unsure of himself.

"What's wrong?" Hawke asked, tying off the bottoms of his pants.

"I wondered if…"

Hawke followed his gaze to the mattress, frowning a moment until it clicked. "Oh. Do you want to, um…" He'd already offered the bed to Anders and was turned down previously for the couch. "The offer stands." To prove his point, he got into bed and lifted the covers, patting the mattress invitingly.

Anders walked slowly but deliberately to the other side and got in. Hawke let the covers fall and tried not to feel too nervous as they settled down. The fire dwindled, Hawke watching Anders, eyes on his bare shoulder and resisted the temptation to reach out and touch him. Anders trusted him; he didn't want to do anything to betray that trust. He rolled over, still feeling an odd mix of emotion. Giddiness at having Anders' friendship (or perhaps more, he hoped) juxtaposed with anger at the Chantry made it difficult for him to fall asleep. Before he drifted off, he promised himself he would try to do something for the mages in the Gallows, though he had no idea what.


	8. Chapter 8

While it wasn't unusual for a dead body to show up on the docks or in Lowtown, it _was_ unusual for it to be a templar. The rumors circulating stated it was a lyrium deal gone bad. No arrests had been made yet though the city guard was looking into a few suspects. Hawke decided to steer clear of the Viscount's office and the Gallows alike. If Aveline or Meredith requested his help he would pretend to look into it. And when he received a notice from the knight-commander, he had to swallow his nerves to open it.

"A ball?" Anders asked when Hawke explained it to him.

"They happen more often than I'd like," Hawke said, pulling on his dress coat. He adjusted the sleeves and handed Bodahn the cufflinks, then surveyed himself in the full length mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. "Usually I can come up with an excuse to get out of it but I don't want to annoy Meredith any more than I think I already have." He glanced at Anders' reflection, their eyes meeting in a mutual understanding. Playing nice with the templars right now was the best way to keep the suspicion off themselves. "You don't have to come, of course."

Anders looked at the outfit laid out in the bed. They'd shared the space over the last two weeks, waking up together sometimes on opposite ends, other times entwined together. Anders didn't comment on it and Hawke wasn't inclined to bring it up, lest he scare Anders off back to the couch.

"No, I'll come." He started to undress. "I've never been to a ball."

"Lucky you. They're dull affairs. Thank you, Bodahn. I think I have it from here. Tell Mother not to wait up for me."

"Very good, messere," Bodahn said, and with a slight bow he left the room.

"Is this because of what happened?" Anders asked, starting to change.

"Yes and no." Hawke tied the cravat around his neck and checked himself one last time in the mirror before shutting the door. "I haven't attended one of these in awhile."

"One of these?" Anders repeated, frowning at the decorative tunic.

"Let me help?" Hawke asked. When Anders nodded, he was careful as he started to dress him in the fancy shirt and doublet, tying the lacy ties and smoothing the silky fabrics. Having grown up with this fashion it was second nature to him. "It's a debutante ball." Seeing the confused look, he explained. "All the eligible young women looking for husbands are brought to the ball and presented by their parents. Matches are made and then weddings happen and eventually babies."

Andres made a face. "And these girls go willingly?"

"More than most, I think. Those that don't find husbands in other ways." He fixed the collar on the shirt, smoothing it out. "There. All done."

"What if they want to do something other than get married and have children?" Anders asked, following him from the room.

"I expect they have a very terse, angry conversation with their parents and are either disowned or given an ultimatum." He held open the front door for Anders then locked up behind them.

Hightown was busier than usual at this time of the evening. Normally the streets would empty out at night after the merchants closed their shops. However, the party in question was large enough to draw quite a crowd. Hawke felt Anders next to him, arm brushing along his every few steps. He couldn't blame him or even imagine what he was feeling. Crowds didn't seem to be within his scope of experience or comfort. Hawke put his hand on the small of Anders' back out of instinct but let it drop after only a few seconds. There would be too many eyes on himself tonight, too many parents looking to marry their daughters to the Amell heir. Hawke would dodge all the questions with skill, try to avoid getting too drunk, then head home for a decent meal and some much needed sleep.

"It's only a few hours."

Anders looked at him. "I don't mind if it helps you."

"Hm? Oh, I was talking to myself," Hawke said, grinning.

Anders smiled but ducked his head, all too aware of the passing stares as they climbed a set of steps further into the heart of Hightown. The courtyard in front of the de Launcet's mansion boasted many colorful lanterns and a string quartet. Servants moved through the crowd, carrying plates of food and trays of champagne. Hawke helped himself to the latter while Anders declined and they stepped inside where warm lighting and more music greeted them.

"Let's hope there won't be a formal dance," Hawke muttered, looking around.

"Garrett Amell!"

Hawke gritted his teeth, took a sip of champagne, and gave Anders a look before plastering on a false smile. He turned to the Comte de Launcet, inclining his head and shook his hand. "Good to see you Guillaume," he lied easily. "How is your lovely wife this evening?"

"Dulci?" de Launcet said, gesturing dramatically to the crowd. "You know how she is. All nerves. Upstairs resting for the moment. We didn't expect to see you here tonight. You know my Babette was just talking about you."

"How nice. This is my companion, Anders."

De Launcet spared Anders half a glance before returning to his original subject. "Are you courting anyone?"

"Not presently, though my mother assures me she's still looking for a suitable wife." It was a careful insult. His mother should have married the Comte and she knew full well that he had _suitable_ daughters. She was, however, determined not to see her son married to a de Launcet. For that Hawke was grateful. "Will Babette be entertaining this evening?"

That cemented the insult and de Launcet hurried to recover. "She is indeed, along with her sister. I am sure they will save you a dance. That is, should you be willing to part with your, ah, companion. I would be careful, serah, there are already rumors. We wouldn't want to tarnish your grandfather's good name. Excuse me."

Anders watched him leave. "I'm not quite sure what just happened."

"Political bullshit," Hawke sighed, draining his glass. "Maybe I shouldn't have come."

"A night's frustration to avoid any awkward interrogation," Anders reminded him.

Hawke looked him. "You could've have stayed home."

Anders shook his head. "What are friends for if not to make your noble acquaintances uncomfortable? Do you think perhaps Isabela would pretend to be your fiancee?"

Hawke snorted, the thought of bringing Isabela to a ball rather amusing. She would be more than able to handle herself, too. Maybe he could invite some of the city guard as well. "Maybe. For a price."

"It might be worth it."

Smirking, Hawke led him further into the house to the grand ballroom where even more people were gathered. "I think bringing you is a rather more serious affront." He was keenly aware of the eyes and the whispers. They followed him everywhere in Hightown now, especially since he enjoyed the evening walks he took with Anders.

"They believe you're sleeping with me."

"Technically they're right," Hawke said, addressing their sleeping arrangement for the first time since it happened. It felt better to wake up next to Anders, even if they had been strictly sleeping and nothing else. "But yes, all literalness aside, that's a large part of the reason everyone is currently either glaring at us or whispering rather conspicuously."

Anders glanced around. "Perhaps I shouldn't have come."

"You would let me go through this alone?" Hawke asked, feigning upset. "I thought you said we were friends." He couldn't help but smile when Anders did, enjoying the subtle changes to his countenance. "Then again I suppose friends don't bring friends to such riveting gatherings." He covered a yawn with the back of his hand.

"I suppose I don't mind." Anders took the champagne glass from Hawke and sipped, then smirked.

"Oh now there will definitely be rumors." Not that Hawke minded. Perhaps it would keep the other nobles from pushing their daughters at him. Though he was more than well aware of the repercussions.

"The day you starting putting stock in what other people think about you is the day pigs take wing."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Are you surprised I seem to know you so well?" Anders asked, handing him the glass back. "You wear your heart on your sleeve, Hawke."

Hawke was glad he didn't have the complexion for blushing, though he felt the heat rise in his face at the comment. "Here I thought I was being a proper nobleman."

Anders made a face. "Maker forbid that ever happen."

Hawke chuckled. "Come on. Let's go mingle. I enjoy creating a good scandal."

-

The party dragged on, Hawke remaining as polite as he could. After the tenth insult to Anders and a not-so-subtle jab at his own sexuality, Hawke decided that the weak champagne was simply not enough and sought out Guillaume de Launcet. He claimed a headache which they both knew was a lie but both played along with. De Launcet inquired about a private dinner for later in the week. Hawke assured him he would get back to him about.

"You're not going to," Anders said as they left the party.

"Nope. I'll have Bodahn field that invitation before Mother can see it. If I have to marry, it definitely won't be a de Launcet."

"Why not simply retain your bachelorhood for life?"

Hawke slipped his hands inside his coat pockets, walking a bit more slowly now the de Launcet's estate was out of sight. While he had no desire to stay at the party, he was in no rush to return home either. "For her, I suppose. She wants grandchildren and Carver won't be having kids anytime soon."

"But why does it fall on you?" Anders pressed.

The streets were empty now and most of the estates were dark, the streetlights burning low. With so little crime in Hightown at this hour, not even the city guard was out. Hawke knew that Lowtown would be bustling, the taverns full to bursting with loud card games and the usual drunks. Normally he'd be happy to head down and buy a round or two but the lingering anger he felt from the insults he suffered changed his mind.

"Hawke?"

Hawke stopped, leaning against the wall of an alcove. "I'm the reason my father was able to leave. She blames me for it. I feel like - why are you shaking your head?"

"You are not the reason or fault. You were saving your sister from a fate no one should have to experience. You shouldn't be punished for your father's bravery. Or your own," Anders said, stepping forward.

Hawke was aware of how close Anders was. He felt the other man's body heat and his lips parted when Anders reached up to cup his cheek. "But I still have an obligation."

"No you don't," Anders whispered. "You're a good man, Hawke. You deserve to be happy. Will marrying some nobleman's daughter and raising children make you happy?" He placed his free hand against Hawke's chest.

Hawke's heart raced. He was sure Anders could feel it even through the layers of rich fabric. "No, but-"

He closed his eyes, falling silent when Anders kissed him. No stranger to physical intimacy, Hawke anticipated the warmth of another's lips against his own. What he didn't expect was how good it felt. Anders' hand slid back into his hair, the other gripping the front of his coat. Hawke held onto his waist, pulling him closer, groaning softly as his lips parted, Anders taking control of the kiss. He remembered vaguely what Anders had said when they first met, that he didn't kiss the guests that came to the Rose, that it was strictly against his own rules. A sort of giddy thrill worked its way up his spine and he wondered at the implications.

Not normally used to being the submissive one, Hawke found he liked this change, pressed against the stone wall. Anders gasped as their hips met, tongue flicking against Hawke's, nails scratching at his scalp. When he pulled away, Hawke didn't open his eyes right away and felt a feather-light kiss at the corner of his mouth, then his chin. He tilted his head and Anders continued to his neck, the cravat slipping away as Anders unknotted it.

"Anders," he whispered.

Anders paused then kissed his collarbone which he found underneath his silk shirt. Hawke sighed happily, head resting against the stone wall now as Anders nipped at his skin. He felt the cool air play over his skin as his coat lay open, shirt untucked. Soft, warm hands worked their way up over his stomach to his chest, fingers brushing against the coarse hair.

"Maker," Hawke groaned. "Anders, all right."

"Hm?" Anders asked, pulling back. He looked him over with heavily lidded eyes, lips wet and swollen and Hawke wanted nothing more than to let him continue, to see what he would do and how far he was willing to go.

"We should… ah…" He leaned forward and kissed Anders again, taking him around the waist once more to turn them around.

Anders smiled, hands back to Hawke's chest, unbuttoning his shirt. His palms pressed against bare skin again and Hawke grunted. "Should what?" he whispered against Hawke's lips.

"Go home," Hawke replied but with little conviction. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know," Anders admitted. "Is it all right?"

"That you kissed me?" Hawke laughed, keeping him close. "Yes. I've wanted that for a long time. Since I first saw you."

"And even after you discovered what I've done," Anders said and dropped his gaze. "It's not a good idea."

Hawke frowned at the sudden change. "Why?"

"You're nobility." Anders shook his head. "You're already too involved. Everything that happened with Alrik, and now Meredith is likely looking at you."

"Hey, Meredith was already looking at me," Hawke reminded him. "That's the whole reason this thing started. Anders, look at me." He did, and Hawke smiled. "I'm in this with you. Whatever you need me to do. Pass messages, get you coin for supplies. I'm in it."

Anders shifted, uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to speak, stopped, shook his head, and looked down again. "Why?"

Hawke cupped his chin and forced Anders to look at him. "You told me that if I really cared, I would buy all the mages. I told you that wasn't possible. And it's not. But this is. And I'm prepared to do it. To do _something_ to help. I can talk to Elthina. Maybe Sebastian has a suggestion. But until then, if this is all I can do, I'll do it. I want to help you. And them."

Anders took the hand that was holding his chin and contemplated the scarred knuckles before kissing them. "You're a rare man, Hawke."

"I just want to do what's right," Hawke insisted.

Anders smiled at him, the sad smile that Hawke was used to seeing. But there was hope there as well. "As I said. You're a rare man."

"Well?" Hawke prompted.

Anders considered this a moment before he spoke. "If you want to help, we would welcome it."

"And the other thing?" Hawke asked, brushing the backs of his fingers against Anders' cheek, pleased when Anders leaned into the touch. "Us."

"Us? Hawke, I…"

"You used to hate me. Though maybe I shouldn't have reminded you of that just now," Hawke said, wincing.

Anders raised an eyebrow. "Things change."

"What changed?" Hawke asked eagerly.

Anders sighed and shook his head, though he was smirking a bit. He started to button Hawke's shirt for him. "Seeing you in a different light. How you stood up for me tonight. How you defend the mages. The way you speak of your sister and your father. Like I said." He kissed Hawke's cheek. "You're a good man."

"I make a fairly decent lover too," Hawke tried.

Anders chuckled, taking Hawke's hand and entwining their fingers. "We'll have to see about that." He squeezed, then let go, and pushed him away gently.

Hawke watched him leave the shadowed alcove and hurried to catch up, following him home, hopeful about their potential future together.


	9. Chapter 9

There was definitely an odd feeling about being with Anders this way. They never really discussed what should come next, merely taking things one day at a time. Anders assured him that kissing was fine and anything above the waist seemed to be fair game as well. Hawke enjoyed touching him, running his fingers through his hair, kissing him. While he'd had other lovers, it was never more than a few days' distraction from everyday life. He would find someone willing to share a bed while taking a holiday or attending some function for Meredith or the viscount. This was vastly different. It felt much more domestic even if they were careful not to show too much affection outside of the estate, and never in front of Hawke's family.

He didn't believe in love at first sight but since he'd laid eyes on Anders he knew there was something about him he instantly liked. Their gradual friendship felt like a courting process and he wondered if Anders thought the same. There was the underlying factor that Anders might have felt obligated to be with him. He quashed that idea the second it entered his head. To entertain that thought would be doing Anders a disservice. Though he was a mage, he was still headstrong and willful. If anyone knew for sure what they wanted, it was Anders.

There was definitely something that felt good about coming home to someone who was happy to see him. He wondered if he was fooling himself, if this was all too good to be true. Of course there was the matter of his mother, his status, and the fact that so many were eager to see him married off and starting a family. Regardless of his marital status he was still the inheritor of his grandfather's estate, but he wouldn't discount his uncle just yet. His mother hadn't yet mentioned petitioning for the inheritance to go to Gamlen instead but the threat was always there and Hawke felt he was running out of time. He was, as his mother liked to remind him, closer to thirty now than twenty.

Still, he would seize this happiness now before it fell apart. This was thought he kept firmly in mind when he returned home late one evening to see Anders sitting at his desk as he often was, head bent low and working on something by light of a nearly burnt out candle.

"What are you working on?" Hawke wrapped his arms around Anders' shoulders and kissed his cheek. He peered at the paper Anders was scribbling on, frowning when it was hastily covered it up. "Keep your secrets," he said, kissing him again. "I thought it might be something for the grand cleric." He moved away from Anders, shrugging out of his coat.

"I've already finished that letter and sent it off," Anders said, shuffling his papers to one side of the desk. He turned around in his chair to watch Hawke change. "I haven't heard anything back yet. Good day?"

"Long." Hawke sighed and stretched, smirking as Anders watched him, eyes flicking down to the sliver of skin below his shirt's hemline. He pulled it off and flexed for him, grinning when Anders shook his head. "I can talk to Sebastian about getting an appointment to see her." He paused. "Would you be willing to testify to the fact that you were at the Rose against your will?"

Hawke watched him shift in his chair and sigh, the quill tapping against the paper he was working on. He was frowning, obviously worried, and didn't respond right away.

"I'll talk to Sebastian," Hawke repeated. "Elthina might not even want to see me. I'm not exactly her favorite person with all the rumors about my father. They like to pretend that never happened."

"Of course they do," Anders said. He dropped the quill, still frowning. "You don't have to put yourself out there for my sake, Hawke."

"Yes, I do. And it's not just yours," Hawke reminded him.

"You don't fear the backlash from Meredith?"

"Let me worry about Meredith." Hawke hadn't heard any further news of Alrik, Aveline only mentioning briefly in passing, perhaps to see if Hawke would react to the name. He didn't. He also avoided Lowtown and all of Isabela's usual haunts in case the templars were watching him. Once the heat died down and they stopped looking for the murderer it might be safe again.

"She practically controls the city. The idea that she could get to you-" Anders stopped, abruptly turning back to his papers.

"The idea what?" Hawke prompted.

"Nothing."

Hawke frowned. Dressed now into lounging clothes, he crossed the room and reached out, fingers sinking delicately into Anders' hair. "Talk to me."

"No."

"Anders." Hawke crouched next to him, laying a gentle hand on his thigh.

Anders sighed and closed his eyes, forefinger and thumb rubbing the bridge of his nose before he looked down at him. "She can hurt you."

"Maybe," Hawke agreed. "But it would take awhile for her to find my father, even if she can."

"I don't mean that," Anders said, turning in the chair. He took Hawke's hands in his own, earnest in his expression. "I mean your status as a nobleman. Your estate. Your money. What if your wealth and name aren't enough to keep you out of prison?"

Bewildered, Hawke asked, "For what?"

"For something. For anything! I don't know!" Anders squeezed his hands. "She would find a way."

"I'm good friends with the guard captain. Most of the nobles like me. I keep the ruffians at bay. An every man's man," Hawke said, grinning. It fell away when Anders didn't return it. "You're worried."

"Is that surprising?"

"I guess not."

"This is exactly what shouldn't have happened."

Hawke felt his stomach twist unpleasantly as Anders pulled away. "What? Are you talking about us?"

"Of course I am," Anders said, picking up the quill again. "It's a distraction from the goal. If Grand Cleric Elthina will not see reason, someone in the Chantry must. She will do nothing while the mages are brutally subjugated. Made Tranquil. Raped. Murdered. And no one _does_ anything. I'm not sure what's worse, the fact that Meredith keeps it as quiet as possible or the idea that people might know about it and yet they do nothing!"

"Hey, hey, what's going on?" Hawke stood, laying a hand on Anders' shoulder which was shrugged off. He tried again, reaching out to cup his chin and was startled to see tears in his eyes. "Anders, what's wrong?"

Anders shook his head and pulled a letter from the desk. He handed it to Hawke, then stood and pushed past him, disappearing through the door that led into the bathing chamber. Confused, Hawke flicked the letter open. The script inside was neat and tidy, dated for today.

_Anders,_

_The templars feel that it would be best if I ceased communications with you. Your letters have become unnecessarily angry in tone and I apologize if I have done something to upset you. I remember that we used to spend quite a bit of time together and perhaps the idea that I am now Tranquil bothers you. I don't recall ever holding any grudges toward you so I assume that I would not want to cause you any pain._

_For your sake, I think this should be our last communication. Remember that Tranquility is always an option if you become too unhappy where you are._

_Karl Thekla_  
Former Enchanter, Kinloch Hold  
Librarian, Kirkwall Circle 

"Ah shit," Hawke whispered. He looked down at the desk where half a dozen barely started letters lay in a haphazard pile. Anders' handwriting was already untidy but it looked erratic now, earnest pleas written to Karl, begging him to reconsider. Hawke dropped the letter on the desk and crossed the room. "Anders?" He knocked on the door and cracked it open. "Anders?"

Anders sat on the edge of the stone tub, leaning forward. His hair fell loose around his face, hiding it from view. Hawke heard a quiet sniff and his heart broke. Though he thought he should give Anders some space, he couldn't imagine leaving him now. He crossed the cold marble floor and reached out, tucking a few strands of hair behind Anders' ear.

"He was always telling me that I was too angry," Anders whispered. He sniffed again, then wiped his eyes. "When he wrote last time he told me again. I thought it was a piece of him coming back. That he would remember Kinloch and what he felt for me and now… Maybe he was feeling the same thing again. But no, it was the damned templars' reaction to my anger. Karl knew it would upset me to have to stop writing. He tried to warn me to rein in my emotions when I wrote to him. I didn't listen."

"I can arrange a visit," Hawke said at once. He wondered what Meredith would have to say about that.

"No, I… I don't want to see him. Not like that. He's gone. The man I knew. The man I loved is gone."

Hawke pulled a washcloth from the linen rack and wet it from the basin. "I'm sorry," he said, because there was nothing else to say.

Anders closed his eyes as Hawke gently washed his face. "No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't put this on you. This is my burden."

"Don't be ridiculous. We're friends." Actually Hawke hoped they were more than that. However lacking in tact he was though, he wasn't going to bring that up now.

"It's been a long time since I've had someone on whom I could depend," Anders admitted. He pulled Hawke's hand away from his face, leaned up, and kissed him. "Thank you."

"Of course. Whatever you need, sweetheart." Hawke bit his tongue, the affectionate word slipping out much too easily.

Anders looked at him in surprise, a hint of a smile playing about his lips. "You really mean that."

"It can't be that hard to believe. Two people living together, working together to further a cause. One kisses the other, more kisses follow. And… other stuff," he added, trying not to smirk. "Of course I mean it."

"It's just…"

"You've been locked up too long."

A flash of anger. "Is it that obvious?"

Hawke tossed the washcloth aside and took Anders by the hand. "What I mean is that I know what it's like. Not first-hand. My father told me about what the Circle's like. How falling in love is almost impossible. That it gave the templars too much power to show them you had something they could use against you." He pulled Anders to his feet.

"It's true. And they still can. Meredith still can," he insisted. "I shouldn't have kissed you. It's not a good idea."

"If you think that I've built my life on making decisions based on whether or not they're good ideas, you don't know me very well after all." Hawke lifted his hand and brushed his lips across Anders' knuckles. "If I could come up with a way to announce this publicly and still retain my inheritance, I would."

Anders scoffed. "No you wouldn't."

"That hurts," Hawke said, only half-joking. He pulled Anders close, wrapping his arms around his waist. "Do you want to run away together? I would have to give up the estate to Carver though. Or my uncle. You haven't met him yet. Trust me, you wouldn't want to."

"I can't leave Kirkwall."

Hawke was glad that Anders didn't appear to want to argue the point of whether or not he would give up his money and status to be with him. It was a large leap but one he considered more every day. He wondered if the headache of keeping the estate and his title was actually worth it. "We still have work to do."

"We."

"Yes," Hawke assured him, pleased when Anders smiled. "I don't know what we can do, but we'll do it. And I'll make sure we have that meeting with Elthina. I'll go to Sebastian tomorrow and have him schedule it."

Anders nodded, though he looked nervous. "Nothing will come of it, will it?"

"Nonsense. Elthina will get self-righteous, I'll make a few bad jokes. Sebastian will get angry when I blaspheme and we'll leave the chantry for Lowtown to get something decent food. And probably drunk."

Anders laughed. "When did you become a soothsayer?"

Hawke kissed him. "Mm. Last night."

"Oh?"

"Mmhm. Read a book on it. Poof. Instant expert." He smiled, pleased with Anders' incredulous laughter. "I like making you happy. Oh! And blush. You're blushing now."

"Hawke, stop," Anders pleaded, pressing his hands against Hawke's chest. He wiggled out of the embrace but held onto his hand, pulling him back toward the bedroom. "Do you think that someone in Val Royeaux would look into it?" He let go of Hawke's hand to cross the room, peering out the window toward the chantry.

"No. Probably not. I expect the Divine and all the others are too busy with… whatever it is they do. Sewing pearls on gowns or whatever."

"Do you think it's worth a try?" Anders drew the curtains and dressed for bed.

As much as Hawke enjoyed spending the day with Anders, he preferred him at night. He seemed less guarded, happier somehow as they climbed into bed together. And while nothing other than a few very serious hours of kissing had occurred yet, Hawke remained hopeful. He would defer to Anders, not wanting to feel like he was pushing him into anything.

"It might. Or it might end up on a pile of a thousand other letters. I doubt the Divine answers her own mail. Probably has an official post master or something to do it for her."

"Have you ever been to Val Royeaux?" Anders asked, getting into bed opposite him.

Hawke settled down, pleased when Anders cuddled up to his side, and wrapped an arm around him. "A few times. Mostly parties, mostly boring. The city is gorgeous though. Alive. I imagine it's different to see it as a normal person rather than going as a nobleman representing the Free Marches."

"Going as Garrett Hawke instead of Garrett Amell," Anders acknowledged.

"Maybe one day. I have seen Antiva City as one should view it. I'll take you there someday."

Anders yawned. "Karl and I always talked about traveling around Thedas."

Hawke wasn't sure what to say. "You will."

"Don't make promises, Hawke. Especially when you can't keep them."

Hawke frowned. "I promise," he said, his tone defiant. "I promise I will show you Thedas. Maker willing, you'll see it as a free man, not a Chantry slave."

Anders let out an incredulous snort. "Good night, Hawke." He rolled over.

Hawke hesitated but followed, turning to his side. He wrapped an arm around Anders' middle, relaxing when Anders moved back towards him. "I promise," he whispered, enjoying the shiver his whisper elicited. He kissed the shell of Anders' ear, then closed his eyes and fell asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

The heavy scent of incense hung in the air as they entered the chantry, the dim light of the candles throwing flickering shadows on the marble floor and stone walls. Hawke visited many different chantries all over Thedas, though it was hardly his favorite place to be. Regardless of the city it was the same iconography, reliefs of Andraste larger than life all looking beautiful and stoic, holding bowls of fire or a giant sword. Kirkwall boasted a very large statue overlooking the main floor that Hawke spent many boring hours during service gazing at. Sebastian commended him on his piety. Hawke simply found it easier to focus on the intricate sculpting work than the Chant or whatever sermon his mother dragged him to that time. Nevertheless, it granted him the ability to look pious without actually having to participate in a community he found rather reprehensible.

Anders followed him, head down and quiet. To anyone else he would've looked like the properly cowed mage companion. Hawke knew better. Anders was already furious despite consenting to this visit. Sebastian wrote to invite them both to come talk to him in the chantry. Hawke was geared up for an argument as it often was with Sebastian. They usually agreed to disagree when it came to many of the Chantry's policies. It strained their friendship but aside from the blind worship, Hawke always thought Sebastian was pretty reasonable. Anders was not so optimistic.

They found him sitting at a desk upstairs, flipping through papers by candlelight. He looked up as they approached, smiling serenely. "Good to see you," he greeted, shaking Hawke's hand. 

Anders didn't seem impressed as he sat next to Hawke, keeping quiet for now.

"You got my letter?" Hawke asked, sitting back, crossing an ankle over his knee. "Room in the grand cleric's schedule to see me?"

Sebastian shuffled a few papers then set them aside before folding his hands atop the desk. "Elthina is a very busy woman and your letter was vague at best. What did you wish to speak to her about?"

"The brothels, specifically." Hawke glanced at Anders. "But treatment of mages in general. How many reports do the templars receive about misconduct that are overlooked?"

Sebastian looked almost amused at the question. He sat up a little straighter. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Hawke."

"Of course," Anders muttered.

"Pardon?"

Hawke spoke before Anders could. "I mean the accusations of templars taking advantage of their charges. Tranquil but also younger mages. Or how about the fact that mages are forced to work the houses as punishment."

"That's simply not true," Sebastian insisted. "Of course there will be rumors of such things but Knight-Commander Meredith would never allow-"

"Have you been to the Gallows?" Anders asked. "Have you seen the conditions in which the mages live?"

"I am quite sure that the templars have-"

"He asked a question," Hawke said. "And a damn good one. I don't hear an answer."

Sebastian's normally ruddy complexion darkened, embarrassment or anger rising in his cheeks. He took a breath. "If you're going to act in such a hostile manner, perhaps you should-"

"Perhaps _you_ should do something about this." Hawke uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "Stop being so blind, Sebastian. Even if the mages were willing, do you really believe this is what Andraste would have wanted?"

Sebastian looked scandalized. "You have no right to speak to me of what Andraste would have wanted. You don't even believe in the Maker."

Hawke laughed. "How long have you had that one saved up? I'm not allowed an opinion on the Chantry because of my beliefs?"

"You have no moral high ground to-"

Hawke slammed his palm on the desk, causing both Sebastian and Anders to jump. "Neither do you. You sit here in your warm, comfortable house of the Maker while innocent mages are locked away-"

"For their own safety as well as others!"

"That is the biggest Maker forsaken lie I have ever heard," Hawke growled. "My sister wasn't a danger to herself or to anyone. My father was a good man. And you're going to tell me otherwise? As if simply being a mage is cause enough to lock someone away. Are you really that stupid?"

Sebastian held his gaze for a long time, chest puffed out in the Chantry robes he wore, ice blue eyes hard and contemplative. "I think that you should leave. Now."

"Because I'm right? Because you don't like hearing hard truths?"

Anders reached out, laying his hand on Hawke's forearm. "Hawke."

"No. We're going to see Elthina. If I can't see her now, Sebastian, I'm just going to come back tomorrow and the next day and the next until you let me see her. And I'll bring Anders every time as a reminder to the so-called pious brothers and sisters and bloody revered mothers that the Chantry condones the _sale_ of _people_ as personal sex slaves to any nobleman who can afford the coin. What would your precious Andraste have to say about that?"

"She would say," came a soft voice from behind them, "that the mages are happy to serve."

"Well here's even more self-righteous-"

"Hawke," Anders said again, following his gaze to Elthina.

"This is a place of peace and serenity, Serah Amell."

Hawke bristled at his official surname. "Mages are forced into the houses against their will. How can you stand there and claim otherwise?"

"Where are these mages?" Elthina asked, gesturing. "Since the inception of the houses, the Chantry has addressed every complaint. No mage who serves does so against their will."

"I tried to explain," Sebastian said but stopped when Elthina raised her hand.

"They're not going to come forward because they're too damn scared." Hawke glanced at Anders then back to Elthina. "Being a whore's better than being made Tranquil anyway. Harrowed mages are being forced into it against their will. Templars are taking advantage of their charges. You have to interfere. Meredith is letting it happen."

"Knight-Commander Meredith may be zealous in her methods but she and First Enchanter Orsino work together for the most amiable solutions."

"You honestly believe what you're saying?" Anders asked. He stood, Sebastian following.

"How dare you speak to the grand cleric-"

"I can speak for myself, Sebastian," Elthina said patiently. She looked at Anders with a critical eye. "I know of you. The boy from the Fereldan Circle, the one who's given the templars much trouble."

"No more than they've given me. And that doesn't answers the question."

Hawke watched his hands furl into fists and could feel his anger. He stood, keeping a subtle hold on his arm.

"I believe the Chantry is a bright and guiding light for many in these dark times," Elthina continued. Her voice kept the same calm, patient tone. "Kirkwall suffers many problems. The houses help bring in the coin necessary to feed and clothe and house the mages-"

"You wouldn't have to if you didn't lock us up! We could make our own way, care for ourselves. We're not children you need to look after!" Anders' mouth was set into a thin line and Hawke saw him clench his jaw.

Elthina shook her head. "The Chantry and the templars would never force a mage against their will. They volunteer and in return are given greater privileges than their brothers and sisters who remain in the Gallows."

"Oh come off it!" Hawke snarled. "Not every mage agrees to it!"

"Again," Elthina said, not raising her voice, "show me these complaints."

"I was forced," Anders admitted. "It was a punishment."

Hawke gripped his wrist. A mistake, as Elthina's eyes flicked down, then up.

"I see." She sighed. "It's not a secret that Serah Amell does not care for the houses. When he claimed responsibility for you, we'd hoped the combination wouldn't escalate, but it seems it has."

"What are you talking about?" Hawke asked. "He's telling you he was forced into it. Do something about it!"

"I'm sorry," Elthina said, looking at Anders. "I know that losing your friend was hard on you."

Anders turned red. "Don't you dare speak of him to me. Karl was a good man and the papers for the Rite were signed despite his Harrowing."

"There were extenuating circumstances. As you yourself are aware. It's all right to be upset about losing a friend but to bring one of Kirkwall's most celebrated noblemen into the fold? It only remains to be seen who corrupted whom into this way of thinking."

"No one corrupted anyone!" Hawke snapped. "It's common fucking sense!"

"Hawke!" Sebastian interjected, rounding the table. He stepped between Hawke and Elthina, as if he was afraid of Hawke reacting violently.

"I will not report this incident to Meredith if you go now. Quietly so as not to disturb the others."

"Oh I'll tell Meredith myself," Hawke said, dragging Anders forward. "I'll tell her you ignored a complaint from a mage who was forced into the houses against his will."

"A claim made under duress," Elthina returned in a soft, almost pitying tone.

Hawke clenched his fist and Sebastian shifted, stepping directly in front of him, chest to chest. They were almost of a height, Hawke a bit broader in the shoulders. But Sebastian was just as good in a fight. If Hawke threw the first punch, and in the Chantry, he would be in the wrong. He would likely be arrested and Aveline wouldn't be happy. _And what would happen to Anders?_ It was this last thought that forced him to relax. Without another word he turned, pulling Anders with him as he strode toward the exit. Once outside, he was unable to contain his ire.

"The fucking _nerve_! How dare she be so Maker damned self-righteous? You told her you were forced into and she thinks it's all a conspiracy! That you're just making it up because you're upset! She thinks _I_ made you do it! Ridiculous!"

Anders remained silent, letting Hawke continue his rant through Hightown. Due to the late hour the streets were empty, no one was there to give them an odd look as they passed. Hawke slammed the front door of the estate, storming his way up to the bedroom. Anders followed. He calmly closed and locked the door before leaning against it.

"Hawke."

"And Sebastian!" Hawke exclaimed, gesturing wildly to the window, toward the direction of the Chantry. "He's supposed to be my friend? Some friend! No, he's too busy kissing Elthina's ass to open his eyes!"

"Hawke."

"Threatening to tell on me to Meredith like she's my mother or something. I swear, I-"

"Hawke!"

Hawke stopped mid-rant, lips parted, another angry diatribe ready when he realized Anders was completely calm. "This doesn't piss you off?"

"Of course it does," Anders said, crossing the room. He gripped Hawke's hands. "I know the truth of my own mind. About what they did to Karl. That the houses were my punishment. The grand cleric can't take that away. We'll find a way to fix this. Elthina isn't the solution."

"She never is," Hawke muttered. "What are you-"

Anders kissed him silent, Hawke's back hitting the bedpost. He hadn't expected it, not that he minded. Anders seemed very intent on both calming him down and riling him up, pressed flush against him. Hawke returned the kiss, hands falling to Anders' waist, groaning as a thigh pushed between his own. A night of kissing, perhaps some heavy teasing was something to look forward to after that complete mess of an evening. Fingers threaded through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. Hawke pulled Anders' shirt up and the kiss broke only as the garment hit the floor. Anders continued with enthusiasm, rubbing hard against him and Hawke felt his growing erection against his thigh.

"Easy," he breathed when Anders pulled back again. "We have all night."

"Don't want to go easy," Anders said. "I'm going to make this very good for you."

Hawke shivered as a pulse of magic filled the air like static electricity. His shirt tore like wet paper, joining the other on the floor and Anders' mouth was hot against his neck. Knowledgeable hands played over his chest, sliding down the plane of his abdomen. Hawke sighed, relaxed and aroused as Anders worked, peppering kisses after his fingers, warm lips here, then there, covering every inch of flesh. He realized he closed his eyes only to open them and find Anders on his knees in front of him, working the buttons to his pants.

"Anders?"

"The way you spoke up for mages tonight. How you want to help us."

Hawke reached behind him to the bedpost. His free hand brushed back a lock of hair from Anders' face. "Of course I do. But that doesn't mean you have to-"

Anders looked up at him, amber eyes steady and serious. "I want to. I care about you, Hawke. I…" His gaze softened, but was no less serious. "I haven't _wanted_ in a long time."

Hawke nodded. Any more conversation would have ruined the moment. His pants parted, falling to his thighs, then his smallclothes. Anders didn't hesitate, licking first up the underside of his shaft before the head of Hawke's cock disappeared into his mouth. Hawke groaned, a hand dropping to Anders' head, fingers sinking into his hair. He'd done this many times but his feelings for Anders built up over the last weeks somehow made it seem more. More erotic, more intense.

"More," he whispered.

He watched Anders smile before he descended, his mouth hot and wonderful around his cock. Anders sucked, cheeks hollowing, tongue flicking and Hawke gasped. His nails dug into the bedpost as he held on. Anders did it again, sliding down his prick and back up again.

"Oh Maker. Anders."

Hawke had to close his eyes again. He reached over his head, holding onto the post with both hands as Anders continued. Soft fingers found his sac, a careful massage as his pants and smalls fell further to pool around his ankles. Hawke spread his legs as far as they would allow. A slicked finger slipped behind his balls, teasing at his entrance, a question.

"Yes," he groaned. "Yes."

A carefully timed swallow as the finger pushed forward. Hawke grunted, wanting to shove himself down on it. He usually preferred to be on top, to maintain dominance, but Anders was making a very good argument for their current position. And then he felt a warm buzz, a vibration that emanated from the finger inside him that seemed to shoot all the way up his spine and back down.

"Sweet Andraste!" He bent his knees, pushing down, wanting more.

The dual assault of a warm, wet mouth around his cock and a slicked finger in his ass, some kind of magic pushing against the knot of nerves and Hawke was sure he would be undone sooner than he'd ever been before. Another finger joined the first and he was panting with the effort to keep himself upright. His arms ached where he clung to the bedpost and he started to sweat.

"Anders. Please," he begged. "Please, Maker. Do something."

Anders was merciful, opening his throat, taking Hawke down to the hilt, nose buried in the dark, curly hair. Hawke looked down, wanting to see it, eyes meeting Anders' through strands of soft blond hair. The fingers inside him curled again, another buzz of magical electricity and Hawke jerked back hard against the wooden post, then forward. Another swallow and Hawke knew he was lost.

"Fuck. Anders, fuck here it comes."

Anders pulled back, fingers sliding slowly out before thrusting into him again. Hawke swore as he came, grunting as Anders played his body like a fiddle, coaxing the last bits of pleasure from him. His hips spasmed, forward then back again, cock slipping from between Anders' lips, a spurt of come hitting him in the chin. Hawke, breathing hard, watched him wipe it off with his clean fingers, tongue darting out to lick it off.

"That was..." he breathed. Instead of complimenting him he simply dropped to his knees, bare skin skidding on the carpet, and kissed him hard.

Not expecting the enthusiasm and unable to hold up Hawke's bulk, Anders collapsed under Hawke's weight. They tumbled the short distance to the floor where Hawke pinned him, tongue thrusting against his lover's, tasting himself as they kissed. He slowly relaxed, the kiss becoming less insistent but no less intense. Then he pulled away, looking down at Anders.

"I suppose that means you enjoyed it," Anders whispered.

"It was all right," Hawke said, grinning. He winced as his sensitive, dwindling erection came in contact with the floor, and rolled to his back. The carpet was soft against his bare ass and with some comedic wiggling he managed to kick off his boots and socks. His pants and smalls followed and soon he was stretched naked on the floor. "What you did with your fingers."

"Speaking of." Anders reached around until he came up with his shirt and cleaned his hand off. "Electricity. Used very carefully."

"It would have to be," Hawke agreed. He stared at the ceiling, feeling tired but sated. "That was… damn." He looked at Anders who seemed to be staring at the same spot of ceiling. "Come here."

"I am here," Anders said, looking at him. He seemed confused.

"No, I meant… Fine. I'll go there." Hawke rolled over until he was draped over Anders, curled with his head against his chest. "Better."

"Aren't you cold? We could move to the bed."

"In a moment."

They lay like that for a few minutes, Hawke drifting in and out of consciousness. His leg brushed over Anders' groin then he reached down to cup him through the pants.

"You don't have to," Anders said at once.

"I want to," Hawke insisted. He sat up, Anders coming with him. "You're not a… This is equal."

"I know, I just…" Anders frowned. "It's something I wanted to do for you. No reciprocation necessary."

"And I know _that_ but this is something I want to do for you." Hawke tried to continue but stopped when Anders grabbed his wrist. He frowned.

"I don't think I'm ready for that yet. Soon. This is different for me, Hawke. This is-" He broke off, looking down suddenly.

"This is what?" Hawke asked. "Anders?"

Anders sighed, shoulders slumped. He looked up again. "Special. You've become special to me."

Hawke was confused. Anders' words were pleasant but his body language spoke of concern, even sadness. "You're special to me, too."

It seemed the right thing to say, Anders' cheeks turning rosy as he smiled. The smile slowly faded. "There's more to it. To us. It's the underground. Helping the mages. They rot in the Gallows and the brothels while I'm here with you. It doesn't seem right."

"Denying yourself happiness and affection and… and love," Hawke pressed. "That's not going to help them. Being with me will. It'll make you stronger."

Anders laughed. "Will it?"

"I think so," Hawke said, shrugging. "I promise I won't let this distract us."

"Us."

"Whether or not Elthina tells Meredith about our visit, she'll find out. One way or another. That's Meredith." Hawke shivered, starting to get cold now as the conversation turned serious.

Anders left his side, lighting the fire with a careful burst of magic and turned his back on Hawke to change. 

Hawke watched for a moment, enjoying the sight of Anders' naked backside, though it hurt to see the white, criss-crossing scars over his skin. Sighing, he stood and dressed for bed. "The investigation into Alrik's death might not lead her to us, but she knows we're up to something."

"Thrask will let us know if there's a threat. But perhaps we should continue to lay low after tonight."

Hawke nodded and slipped into bed, pleased when Anders curled up next to him. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled the blankets up. "Anders?"

"Hm?"

"I… Uh."

"What is it?"

"I like this. A lot. Maybe more than I should. And I just…"

Anders kissed his chin and nuzzled his beard. "Shh."

Hawke fell silent. Perhaps it was best after all not to think about their relationship too closely. He could fall in love, but then what? The question followed him into sleep, dreaming of a life where he could be free to be with Anders and no one would keep them apart.


	11. Chapter 11

Hawke never realized how quiet the countryside was. Whenever he traveled, it was usually with other nobles in closed carriages or with Carver. Nearly two weeks passed since his altercation with Elthina and Sebastian and with no word from Meredith about his considerable boat-rocking, Hawke felt it was safe enough to venture away from his routine and step outside of Kirkwall. It was a good thing, too. His mother was growing more and more insistent that he find a "nice young woman" to settle down with. She even went so far as to offer to find Anders a new home as their "friendship" would be inappropriate with a newlywed couple. Hawke wondered just how far his mother's deniability would go, but decided not to press the issue and spent more time outside the estate than in it.

He thought Anders was simply getting stir-crazy when he asked for help that night. They stole through the estate's basement, leaving by way of a trap door that Hawke had never used before, spilling out into Darktown, into the cold and damp and stench. While Hawke enjoyed the Lowtown pubs and preferred the rough and tumble company there to the noblemen of Hightown, he wasn't quite sure what to make of the denizens of Darktown. He was used to the seedy hustlers, tramps, and whores in Lowtown, but the shadowy figures down here made him feel glad for the ability to use the sword hanging on his hip. He was also glad he'd learned long ago how to keep his coin purse inside his coat rather than hanging on his belt.

They moved swiftly through a passage that led them just outside of Kirkwall in the Vimmark Mountains. The air was crisp and fresh, unlike the soggy dampness of Darktown and the sewer tunnel. For a moment, Hawke could almost forget why they were out here. He tugged the hood of his cloak up, hands in the pockets while they waited.

"I'm glad you made it this far. For a bit, you looked as if you were about to run back to the estate," Anders said. His tone was light and joking, but there was an edge of apprehension to his tone.

"I promised you I would stand by you in this. If it means doing something more dangerous than throwing money at the problem, then I'm going to do it." His voice was a bit more gruff than he'd intended, and he tried for a smile but it turned into a grimace.

"Thrask will be here soon," Anders said.

Hawke couldn't see his face but heard the worry in his voice. He reached out and took his hand. "Then we meet your contact in the hills, right?"

Anders nodded, fingers entwining lightly with Hawke's. "I admit at first I was…"

"Worried?" Hawke guessed. He shrugged when Anders nodded. "I want to do something. And if Elthina won't listen, then we have to go behind her back. Besides," he added, "there's something exciting about this. Breaking the law and smuggling mages to freedom." He grinned, but realized quickly that he'd said something wrong from the look on Anders' face. "What?"

Anders sighed and pulled his hand away, then crossed his arms. "If I didn't know you as well as I do by now, I would think that you were being cavalier."

Hawke frowned, brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what he'd said. "Sorry?" he tried.

"This isn't a game, Hawke. These are real people with real lives. We have to make a decision to save which ones. Do you realize how difficult that is? That a network of people collectively need to look at these prisoners and decide which is more worthy? That our decisions, while saving one, might condemn another to death or worse?"

Through the moonlight Hawke saw Anders, his tired expression, the concern and upset in his eyes. He heard the plaintive tone in his voice and his heart broke for him. Since coming to Kirkwall, Anders had been working the underground circuit, risking his life and more to help his brethren. Hawke realized that helping his father escape Kirkwall was easy compared to what Anders and the others did. Perhaps making light of the situation was in poor taste.

"I'm sorry."

Anders sighed. "We - _I_ \- appreciate the help. Your support has meant-"

The sounds of footsteps interrupted him. Thrask approached leading a young man with sandy colored hair and a terrified expression. He was barefoot, carrying a tattered rucksack on his back. Thrask nodded to Anders. If he was surprised to see Hawke there as well he said nothing. Without a word, he disappeared back into the caves leading to the Gallows. Hawke listened to Anders speak quietly to the mage, giving him instructions once they reached their destination.

"What happened to your shoes?" Hawke asked as the conversation lulled.

The boy stammered, as if he was unsure how to answer the question, or perhaps afraid of what Hawke would do if he answered incorrectly. "Lost them," he finally whispered.

Hawke stopped. "Wait."

"We don't have time," Anders insisted. "We have to reach-"

Hawke knelt down and unlaced his boots and pulled off his socks. "Here. And take this too." He pulled his coin pouch from his coat and pressed it into the boy's hand. "I can afford new boots."

"Don't flash this around," Anders said, tucking the pouch into the boy's pack. "They'll think you've stolen it."

Hawke waved off the boy's thanks, feeling a little hot under the collar at the wide, innocent eyes that looked at him in reverence. The grass felt soft under his bare feet as they hiked the trail up into the hills. His heart was racing. Despite his apology, it _was_ exciting to be doing this. The adrenaline rush of committing a crime to help someone far outweighed anything he'd ever done before. Even their confrontation with Alrik didn't measure up, though Hawke had been trying very, very hard to push that memory away. He took no pleasure in killing the man, even if he deserved it for so many reasons.

"There," Anders whispered, stopping them.

A torchlight flickered in the distance. A secret code. Anders answered in turn, his fingertips alight with blue flame. A few seconds later, the former templar Samson stalked out of the shadows, carrying a torch which he doused.

"You got it?"

Anders dug into his robes and pulled out two vials of lyrium. "You really should-"

"Yep," Samson said, snatching the vials. "And you should stop risking your life for no payoff. But tigers don't change their stripes, eh?" He snickered, then stopped short, seeing Hawke. "Your handler now?"

Hawke scowled. "I'm not-"

"Just go," Anders said. "Take care of him, Samson."

"You know I will. Come on, kid."

Anders nodded when the mage looked at him, then watched the two of them continue the trek into the hills.

"Are you alright?" Hawke asked when Anders finally turned away. They started down the path together.

"Yes."

Hawke wasn't convinced. "Is it hard to watch them go?"

"No. They deserve their freedom." Anders kept his head down, but his fists were clenched.

"That's not what I mean. I mean is it hard to watch them go while you're…"

Anders didn't answer right away, the only sounds between them the crunch of boots and bare feet on the trail. "Yes. Of course."

"If I could help-"

"No. As much as I want my freedom, I will take it when it's time. When I feel like I can no longer help other mages in some way. Until then, I'm… You make it bearable."

Hawke chuckled. "Bearable."

"Don't push your luck." The words were harsh but the tone light, and Anders brushed his hand against Hawke's.

Hawke took it, holding fast. "No matter what happens, I think that I would like to stay with you."

"That's not something we need to talk about now," Anders assured him.

"I think it's exactly the thing we need to talk about now." It had been in the back of his head for a very long time. His future was going to be set for him if he didn't make it very clear to his mother that he wasn't interested in marrying and having children. While his interest in keeping the estate hadn't waned, using his coin and influence to help mages seemed a much worthier cause than all the parties and hunts he'd attended. As much as it would break his mother's heart, he could see himself like his father, on the run from templars, fugitives from the law with Anders. Of course he could have been romanticizing it all. He imagined what Anders would say if he expressed as much to him.

The sounds of shouting ahead startled them into stopping. Anders glanced around, looking for a way out but the path was frustratingly narrow, dense foliage and trees blocking them from hiding. The clank of plate metal echoed up the trail and Hawke realized it was templars. Thinking fast, he pressed Anders to the nearest tree.

"Hawke, what-"

"Follow my lead and I'll save us both," Hawke whispered, then kissed him.

As enjoyable as the kiss was, Hawke knew he had mere moments before the templars were upon them. He yanked off his cloak and unbuttoned his shirt before his hands found Anders' shirt to do the same.

"What's this then?" a voice broke across the path.

Hawke pulled back, adopting a tipsy sort of grin. "Eh? Can't a man get some privacy?" He winced in the torchlight, keeping one hand on Anders, fingers working their way into his shirt.

Three templars, all of which Hawke vaguely recognized by sight but not by name, looked bewildered. The lead, an older man with grey hair, lowered the torch a little and leered.

"Messere Hawke?"

"Shit," Hawke slurred, running a hand through his hair. "This, ah. Y'know. It's not what it looks like?"

The other two templars tried to keep straight faces but ended up snickering behind their gauntlets.

"You shouldn't be out of the city so late. And with your mage. Did you sign out at the Gallows?" the older templar asked.

Hawke shuffled his feet, then stumbled, Anders catching him instinctively. "Nah, didn't have time. Was a little too uh. Eager. You understand right?" he asked, inclining his head toward Anders. "We were just finishing up in the uh… The bushes over there." He gestured off the path in no particular direction. "Lost my boots and coin purse otherwise I'd make it worth your while. Tell you what." He stumbled again into Anders on purpose this time. "Mm. You smell good," he whispered, nuzzling his neck. Anders blushed and Hawke hoped he wouldn't be angry later about this. "Right. Ah. Come by the estate tomorrow for lunch! We'll have a talk about rules. Flexible things, those rules, right?"

The three seemed to consider this moment. Citing Hawke for bringing Anders outside the city limits without proper documentation meant more paperwork in the long run. Whereas lunch with him meant bragging rights and gold. The elder templar nodded, moving aside.

"Come on, sweetheart," Hawke said, tugging Anders along. "Bed's waiting."

Hawke heard the murmuring behind them, the speculation of the templars. He realized belatedly that he'd more or less confirmed the rumors now, not that the entire city hadn't already decided he enjoyed men. The thought that they believed Anders was a mere "companion" and nothing else bothered Hawke more, however. It wasn't fair. Anders was more than just a whore to him.

"You didn't have to do that," Anders whispered though they were long out of earshot.

"Yes I did," Hawke said, buttoning his shirt as they continued toward Kirkwall. "They were distracted enough that they wouldn't noticed the sewer slime on your boots or the fact that I wasn't actually drunk. I play nice with them tomorrow, toss some coin their way, they forget about it in a couple of days. Old gossip."

"And your mother?"

"Damn it, Anders!"

Anders jumped at his outburst, stepping swiftly away from him. 

Hawke's barely constrained irritation coupled with the templar encounter mixed with the adrenaline from earlier. "I'm sorry." He sighed. "I don't give a damn what my mother thinks. Not anymore. There are too many things at stake now. What we're doing is too important. I don't know what end goal you have in mind-"

"Freedom," Anders said, fists clenched. "For all mages. Not just some. Not just me. For everyone. The Circle is not a solution and it's time we all stopped pretending it was. The houses need to be torn down. The Circles burned to the ground."

Hawke shivered at his ferocity. Anders was fervent in his belief, and if there was ever a doubt in Hawke's mind that he was serious, it was erased now. "I want to be with you."

"Why?"

"You said this wasn't a game. I know that. None of this is. I…" Hawke saw his look of disbelief and surprise shadowed in the moonlight. "Well, perhaps it's a bit too early to call it love, but I feel very strongly for you and I never felt-"

Anders held up a hand. "Hawke, you don't know what you're asking." He sounded scared, voice wavering.

Hawke took his hand, tugging him into an embrace. Anders tensed but after a moment relaxed, chin resting on Hawke's shoulder as he held onto him.

"You don't have to be strong all the time," Hawke whispered. "I promise that I won't let you do this alone."

Anders laughed but it was a short-lived burst. "I have been. Long before you showed up in my room."

"I don't mean just with the mages." Hawke pulled back and cupped his face, drawing his thumbs slowly over Anders' cheekbones. "I've made up my mind, Anders. I care for you. I'm not leaving. Marrying some girl? Being miserable my whole life? I'd rather stay with you. Even if it means giving all that up. My father did it for my sister. I would do it for you. All right?"

Anders swallowed hard, looking uncertain. "All right," he said quietly. He gripped Hawke's wrists, then allowed the kiss that followed, soft and sweet, a brush of Hawke's lips against his.

"Let's go home."

Hawke wrapped an arm around Anders' waist, guiding him back to Kirkwall. One way or another, he would see this through to the end.


	12. Chapter 12

"A deserted island."

"I'm not fond of the beach," Hawke said. "Mountains?"

"Too cold."

He was lying in bed with Anders curled up against him, a lazy morning after a late night of not-so-subtle hints from his mother indicating she expected more news on his eventual engagement. Hawke grinned through gritted teeth and endured it, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could put it off. Waking with Anders was a nice distraction and they'd somehow gotten on the topic of where they would live in the future.

"Just a nice forest or a farm, then."

Anders thought about this for a moment. "I think I'd like to live on a farm. Our village had little farms."

"I grew up here. The only farm I knew was the vegetable garden." Hawke drew his fingertips slowly up and down Anders' arm. "You'd want to go back? To Ferelden, I mean."

"I have no desire to be in any particular place," Anders admitted. "Ferelden was the last place I called home."

The last time Anders mentioned something like that, Hawke felt pity. Now the words just made him angry. Perhaps it was the time he spent with Anders but he was beginning to see the larger picture now, the need for change. The problem remained, however. Elthina wasn't going to budge on her position and Meredith would sooner dance naked in the chantry than cede even a fraction of her power. Hawke was starting to understand just how corrupt the system was. Could you even change something like that? Or was the Chantry too set in its ways for it to change? His grip on Anders tightened.

"What is it?" Anders asked, looking up at him.

Hawke frowned. "Do you ever think about the future?"

"Isn't that what we're doing?" Anders shifted, leaning up on an elbow. "I realize it's all pretend-"

"It's not," Hawke said. He looked at him, perhaps a bit too intensely because Anders glanced away. Hawke reached up, cupped his cheek and guided his eyes back to him.

"In the Circle, Karl and I would lay together and talk about all the things we would do if it was just us out in the world," Anders admitted. He covered Hawke's hand with his own. "It's just a dream."

"I would leave here tonight with you if you wanted it."

Anders smiled, but it was sad. "You're very sweet. And genuine, which is rare. But you have a future here, Hawke. I wouldn't steal that from you."

"You can't steal what's freely given." Hawke leaned up, pulling Anders down simultaneously until their lips met in a soft, reassuring kiss. "My future here means little without you." He was surprised to realize how true that statement was. Trying to picture his life without Anders was near impossible.

"Hawke," Anders breathed. He closed his eyes, forehead resting against Hawke's. "Hawke, I-"

"I _like_ this. This feeling, what you do to me." Hawke pushed him back to the mattress, kissing his forehead, then his eyelids, his cheek. "I like coming home and finding you here. Asking about your day. Going to bed together." He brushed his lips against Anders', then trailed a line of kisses up his jaw. "I can see us together for a long time."

Anders tilted his chin up, Hawke continuing his kisses over his throat. "That's not possible for me."

"We'll go elsewhere. I'll give up my inheritance and we'll move to Ferelden." Hawke smiled when Anders moaned, teeth grazing against sensitive skin. He bit again, harder this time, then gave the red bruise an apologetic lick. "Say the word."

"It's not possible," Anders repeated.

Hawke shifted on top of him, straddling his waist. "Revolution first. Free the mages."

Anders laughed and finally looked at him. "As if it's that easy?"

"Crush the Circles into dust. Raze them all," Hawke said, enjoying himself as Anders' eyes widened, his breath speeding up in excitement. He grabbed Anders' wrists, pinning them to the bed, leaning over him. "Every mage in every Circle and in every house free to do as they wish. Free to find their own paths. Love whomever they wish."

"Yes," Anders whispered.

Hawke kissed him, pleased when Anders responded eagerly. When he pulled back, Anders was panting, lips swollen, breathy moans escaping as Hawke slid lower. He trailed kisses over his bare chest.

"Hawke," Anders groaned.

"Let me?" Hawke asked. He didn't want to overstep any boundaries Anders had set, and while Anders was comfortable giving pleasure, he seemed less inclined to receive it. Hawke waited for permission.

Anders hesitated, but nodded.

Grinning, Hawke straddled Anders' thighs, fingers ghosting his sides before playing with the ties to his pajama bottoms. Anders kept his arms up, folded under the pillow, gripping it. But he lifted his hips when Hawke slid the bottoms down and off, pleased to see Anders was enjoying his attention.

"Maker, you're gorgeous. Look at me?"

Anders opened his eyes, a slight blush to his pale cheeks. "For a whore, you'd think I'd be used to this."

Hawke frowned. "You're not a whore. No one will ever touch you again without your say so. I swear it."

"Hawke-"

"Even if you don't want me anymore," Hawke promised. "I will make sure of it. You'll never go back there. Now sweetheart, if it's all right with you, I'm going to suck your cock."

Anders laughed. "How are you so endearing and frustrating at the same time?"

"It's a talent." Hawke took him gently by the hips, thumbs brushing over his skin. "Well?"

Anders nodded.

Hawke was no stranger to giving pleasure; none of his previous partners ever complained at any rate. He wasn't sure he could match Anders' talent for it, but excitement and enthusiasm were good motivators. Anders tried to stay quiet as Hawke lowered his head, kissing the tip of his cock before swirling his tongue around it, tasting the salty fluid. He wondered if Anders had clients who did to him, who enjoyed making him quiver and moan. While jealous of these faceless, nameless noblemen, Hawke knew he would be better. He would work to make Anders shout his name and beg him for release. It was a point of pride that Anders wasn't acting when a hand landed in his hair, encouraging him to continue.

Anders spread his legs, thighs resting on Hawke's shoulders. Head thrown back, one hand gripped the sheets while the other tugged gently on thick, black hair. Though Hawke had no magic to enhance the sensation, he didn't need it. Anders was lost in a sea of confusing, arousing feelings. Not since Karl had he felt so safe, so accepted. It was new and frightening, and to let himself be vulnerable was foreign. With Hawke it felt right. He gasped as Hawke's head bobbed and he tried to keep from thrusting up, chasing that wet heat. It disappeared and he looked down, disappointed, then realized Hawke moved lower, a tongue against his sensitive hole.

"Hawke! Sweet Andraste… what are you doing?"

Hawke didn't answer. Instead, he curled his fingers around Anders' cock, stroking quickly, the tip of his tongue pressing insistently against him. Anders tried to relax, heels digging into Hawke's back, arousal building quickly with the dual onslaught of tongue and hand. He tried to remember how to breathe, eyes squeezed shut. 

Then it stopped once more, but before he could look down, a tingling warmth enveloped his entire body, goosebumps rising on his skin when Hawke licked his sac, carefully drawing it inside his mouth.

"Oh," he whispered, both hands now gripping the sheets.

One side, then the other, Hawke was careful, loving. His tongue seemed to be everywhere at once and Anders wasn't sure if he wanted it to stop or to last forever. He knew, however, that _he_ wasn't going to last forever, not with how attentive Hawke was, the little moans he was making now, vibration against balls shooting straight up his spine, the tingling at the back of his neck.

"Hawke."

Hawke pulled back only to return his attention to the head of his cock once more, finishing what he started as Anders thrust his hips, unable to help himself. Hawke swallowed around him, hand sliding slickly over his shaft, he let Anders fuck his mouth, filling it as he came, a naked whimper the only sound of his release. Hawke swallowed, then once more before letting him go. He looked down at him, neck and chest peppered with little bruises that he'd made, cock and balls glistening with saliva. Anders had an arm thrown over his eyes, lips parted as he panted, trying to catch his breath.

"You are a fucking sight," Hawke growled. His own cock strained against his pajamas. He wanted nothing more than to turn Anders over and fuck him hard, but he could wait. It would be Anders' decision. "Gorgeous."

Anders peeked up at him. "I'm not…"

"Not what? Not gorgeous? You are." Hawke shifted, then fell next to him, pleased when Anders curled onto his side, moving closer. He pulled the blanket up and over them both.

"Not sure what to say."

"You could tell me how good I am at sucking cock," Hawke suggested, leering. Then he realized Anders wasn't smiling back, and frowned. "What?"

Anders frowned as well, then buried his face against Hawke's chest, fingers playing idly with the dark hair there. "It's been so long since I've done this."

Hawke realized he didn't mean sex. His heart broke just a little, understanding. Anders was terrified. He wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight in an embrace as if he could shield him from the fear. "Whatever you want. We can go back to sleep or get up. Have a bath and breakfast. Or just lay here for as long as you'd like." There were a few letters he needed to respond to and later he would be having lunch with another hopeful young woman, but there was nothing pressing that morning.

"I enjoyed it," Anders said, muffled against him.

His immediate urge was sarcasm, but Hawke held his tongue. He couldn't imagine how difficult feelings were for Anders. After having his former lover ripped away from him and being forced to pretend to enjoy his punishment, experiencing this kind of free will… it was no wonder he wasn't comfortable being on the receiving end. "I did too," he said finally, hoping the response was neutral enough. "I like giving."

Anders looked up at him, managing a smile. "This is unusual for me. I'm not sure."

"We'll take it one day at a time," Hawke promised. "And if that's too much, one hour at a time. I meant every word. I'm not sure how this is going to work but I want it to. And if you do too, then we'll make it happen."

"Even if it means running away from Kirkwall?"

"Even then."

Anders let out a breath. "I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"I don't see how you could."

Anders was quiet for some time, contemplating. "I might. What if I did something that caused you to hate me?"

Hawke was confused. "I don't know what that could be. It takes a lot for me to hate someone. Meredith and Elthina are prime examples. As you don't follow in their footsteps..."

"Just know that I wouldn't want to."

"I wish you would talk to me," Hawke pleaded. "Is this about the mages?"

"If I had to do something extreme to get Elthina to listen. Or for Meredith to take notice."

Though they were alone in the room, Hawke lowered his voice."Anders, we've already killed a templar together. If I was going to hate you for anything… if I was going to walk away from this, I would have done so then. It would've been simple to hand you to the templars and state that it was all your fault. But I wouldn't do that. I believe in this cause."

"How far are you willing to go?"

The question was a chilling one. Hawke had never wanted to kill Alrik, no matter how much he deserved it. Was Anders considering killing other templars? "What will it take?"

"Revolution is necessary. Whether it will come peacefully or not remains to be seen. If you want to walk away-"

"No."

Anders wasn't looking at Hawke, but Hawke could see the sad smile he seemed to always have. "Please don't make promises you can't keep. I don't expect you to stand with me."

"Then I'll prove it to you. When the time comes, Anders. I'll prove it to you."

Anders didn't respond. Hawke held him tighter and they lay like that for a few minutes, Hawke's cheek pressed against his head. Anders brushed his fingers through the hair on Hawke's chest, deep in thought until a knock on the door drove them both from their reverie.

"Messere?" came Bodahn's voice.

"In a minute," Hawke called out.

"You've a visitor, Messere. You may want to come quickly. She seems rather impatient."

Hawke sighed, feeling the loss of warmth as Anders pulled away and started to dress. "Is it Meredith? Aveline?"

"Er, no, sir," Bodahn said. "She says she's from Val Royeaux."

Hawke made a face, hoping his mother hadn't invited some Orlesian for him to court. "I'll be out soon."

He listened to Bodahn's retreating footsteps then started to dress, wishing he could have remained in bed with Anders instead. Not eager to start the day but needing to do so regardless, he promised Anders they would talk more later and followed him from the room.


	13. Chapter 13

Hawke wasn't sure what to make of the woman sitting in his library, her face stoic, carefully blank as Leandra offered her tea.

"No, thank you," she said in a thick accent Hawke couldn't quite place. She caught Hawke's eye when he entered the room and stood, giving him full view of her armor. A strange looking eye was carved on the breastplate. "Garrett Hawke?"

Hawke saw his mother's jaw set. "My father was Hawke, but close enough," he said, offering his hand. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast." She shook his hand. "My apprentice, Daniel."

Hawke hadn't noticed the young man standing against the wall at first. Wearing similar armor, he seemed to blend in with the curtains. "This is Anders," he countered, gesturing behind him. "My… ah. Friend," he finished lamely. It was somewhat embarrassing to introduce him in such a way, but he refused to allow him to be treated like part of the furniture.

Cassandra offered her hand to him. Surprised but pleased, Anders shook it.

"We have things to discuss. In private," she said with a pointed look to Leandra.

"My apologies, Seeker Pentaghast," Hawke said, hoping it was an appropriate use of her title, "but I'm not entirely sure who you are or why you're here."

"I will come to that momentarily," she assured him.

Hawke looked at his mother. "I'm sure we won't be long."

Irritated that she was being excused from her own library, Leandra managed to remain graceful as she allowed Hawke to kiss her cheek, then left with Bodahn who closed the door. Hawke sat on the sofa across from Cassandra, pulling Anders to sit with him. He assumed that Cassandra's apprentice - who wore an expression of nervous anxiety - preferred to stand. Cassandra leaned forward as she spoke, resting an elbow on her knee.

"No doubt you have your questions. I was sent here upon receipt of a letter you wrote to the Divine." She pulled an envelope from her cloak and set it on the coffee table, fingers tapping the broken wax seal. "We have concerns."

Hawke frowned and took the letter. "I think I would have remembered writing to the _Divine_." He opened it and suddenly it was clear. The handwriting belonged to Anders but it was signed with his name. He looked at Anders who had the decency to look sheepish.

Cassandra, who struck Hawke as a shrewd woman, caught on at once. "I see."

"I didn't think anyone would notice if the complaint came from a mage," Anders said, defiant.

"It's fine," Hawke said without hesitation. He quickly scanned the letter. Anders was always verbose, Hawke having to edit his letters to the grand cleric, cutting out superfluous words that challenged her authority and sometimes even her intelligence. This letter was no different from his usual impassioned writing. He called on the Divine to right the wrongs done to mages of Kirkwall, detailing Karl's Tranquility and speaking of Anders himself and the punishments he received. "You didn't hold back."

"No, he did not," Cassandra said in a stern tone. "The Divine was moved by the details of the letter enough to send me to investigate your chantry and your Circle."

Hawke looked up. Not that Cassandra particularly struck him as someone who made jokes easily, but it sounded farfetched to him. "The Divine herself sent you."

Cassandra nodded. "Though it is not well-known, but her Perfection is not fond of the houses. I have to say that neither am I. However in the many years that I have been a Seeker and the Right Hand of the Divine, we have never received a complaint like this from anyone, let alone a prominent noble of a noted city."

"Well you have now," Hawke said. Though he hadn't written the letter himself, he agreed with every word. A part of him was somewhat annoyed that Anders had gone behind his back in such a way, but he thought he understood. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. "What does the Divine plan on doing about this, aside from sending you? And what will you investigate? Do you have the authority over Elthina and Meredith?"

"Indeed I do."

"I've not heard of your organization," Hawke said.

"Not many have," Cassandra acknowledged. "The Seekers of Truth were formed to keep watch over templars and mages both. We answer directly to the Divine to seek abuses from both organizations. Of late Divine Justinia has been looking into the houses. No group so large is free from corruption. We knew there must be abuses, but no mage has ever spoken up without a templar there to justify their actions. Kirkwall in particular sees many abuses of magic-"

"Only because templars force their charges into corners!" Anders snapped. Hawke started to interject, but Anders was too angry and spoke over him. "You see only blood magic where I see desperate mages. Ones who would rather lose themselves to demons than become puppets of the templars. The Rite of Tranquility is performed more times here in a year than I've seen my entire time in the Circle in Ferelden. The first year I was here, five mages were made Tranquil. Good mages. Ones that have passed their Harrowing. It was only ever to be used as a last resort, not a punishment though the practice is completely abhorrent!"

Cassandra tried to remain passive, but there was a hard edge to her tone. "Sometimes it is necessary, though the mage needs to be willing to undergo the Rite."

"Necessary." Anders sneered. "What's necessary about taking away everything that makes someone a person? All their emotions and motivations, their dreams."

"We are not here to debate the Rite," she said. "However, I will need the names of the mages who have undergone it in order to bolster my investigation."

"I think she's on our side, Anders," Hawke assured him.

"I am on the side of truth," Cassandra stated. "We will look into these claims," she said, taking the letter and tucking it back into her pocket. "But first, tell me your story." She looked at Anders.

Anders, for all his earlier anger, faltered.

"Nothing will happen to you," Hawke assured him. He threw caution to the wind and took Anders by the hand. "I won't let them take you back to the Circle." He watched as Anders still hesitated. "Karl will be safe as well."

Anders nodded and cleared his throat. "Mages are afraid to speak out," he started. "Nothing is done. If there's a complaint, they're moved to another house or another Circle. Their grievances are swept away. Mages are taught that if they do anything to anger the templars, they can be made Tranquil without notice. That was my choice."

"What choice?" she asked, eyes narrowed as she listened.

"That's what I thought," Anders pressed, looking earnestly at Cassandra, searching for the words to answer her question. "What choice is it between Tranquility or to become a whore? And in the Gallows, that can mean the same thing. When my lover Karl was turned Tranquil for suspected seditious activity, I lashed out. I used magic against the templars that restrained me."

"Understandable," Hawke said.

"After they subdued me with physical force, I was given a choice. Join him or work the houses. Perhaps I'm a coward. I saw his blank eyes. I heard his voice. I knew he was gone. There was nothing I could do." Anders swallowed. "I didn't want to become that, though perhaps feeling nothing at all would be preferable to…" He shook his head. "I became a whore for the Chantry."

Cassandra remained almost impassive, but the lines at the corners of her mouth tightened, one fist clenching tightly. "Are you willing to retell this story to the Divine?"

Hawke looked at her, startled. "The Divine herself would hear it?"

"She would need to. While she would accept my word, the weight of this confession would be much more potent from the person who bore the injustice."

Anders straightened, perhaps emboldened by her acknowledgment of his struggles. "I would. But the knight-commander would never allow me to leave."

"The knight-commander will realize she is no longer in charge once I arrive in the Circle."

"What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall for that conversation," Hawke said, pleased with the idea of Meredith being replaced if only temporarily. With someone like Cassandra on their side, it was even possible that replacement could be permanent. The threat of his father's case might even be expunged. It was an exciting prospect.

"You don't have to be. You and Anders will accompany us to the Gallows."

"Wait," Hawke said. "As willing as I am to stand up for this, what if it doesn't pan out? What if you decide she's completely justified and bugger off back to Val Royeaux. Meredith will make our lives a living hell."

"If my investigations here turn up nothing you will return with me to the capital to present your case first-hand. The Divine will not see Anders kept in a Circle that has abused him. He will be reassigned."

"Reassigned?!" Anders exclaimed. "No, I can't!"

Hawke remembered his initial anger at being taken from the Rose. The loss of his contacts in the underground, how crucial a part he was for passing information to them. He was still integral in the transfer of mages to freedom, not that they could actually tell Cassandra about that. He could speak up, remind Cassandra that under Chantry law, Anders belonged to him. Somehow he didn't think Anders would thank him for that.

"You may not have a choice. You are aware of the Chantry's politics. There is no guarantee of your safety should you remain here."

"I can't leave here," Anders repeated. "Not with… I can't. Karl is here."

Hawke bit his tongue. So that's what this was about. Anders would likely have been upset at the loss of the underground, but he could easily assist in forming another in whichever city he ended up. Perhaps not Fereldan's Circle due to its distance but he imagined Val Royeaux's would have ample opportunity. The realization that he wasn't part of Anders' concern in leaving stung, though he was careful not to let the hurt show.

Cassandra looked at Anders, studying him a moment, then nodded. "We will arrange for him to be moved as well. There will be records of his Harrowing and I will study the reports of the Rite performed on him. If he was made Tranquil with no previous transgressions in his file, it will be easier to have him moved. Regardless, you will both accompany me tonight and we will depart for Val Royeaux no later than two weeks' time so Most Holy can hear what you told me." She stood, Hawke following. Anders remained seated, looking a bit lost. "In the meantime I am going to investigate the houses. I doubt the mages there will tell me anything but lies out of their own fear, but I will continue to look for evidence to support our case."

Hawke walked her to the door, her quiet apprentice following. "We'll see you tonight."

"Indeed." She shook his hand and stepped outside. "We will get to the bottom of this, rest assured."

Hawke thanked her and closed the door as they left, then leaned against it. He told Anders he would do whatever it took to help the mages. He hadn't realized how difficult it would be, or how nerve-wracking. If Meredith was kept instated in the Gallows, he all but sealed his father's and sister's fates. Was it worth it? He thought his father would be proud of him, even if it ended disastrously. At least he would have _tried_ to do something instead of sitting around day after day while mages across Thedas were systematically abused. Even if it ended in his own incarceration.

Speaking of, he thought he should speak with Aveline and warn her about the oncoming storm. She wouldn't thank him for bringing trouble to Kirkwall but she'd be grateful for the head's up. After all, she and Meredith butted heads on an almost daily basis. He crossed the hall to his writing desk and penned a quick note for her to see him about urgent business, then found Bodahn to run the letter at once.

"You're angry."

Hawke turned to see Anders in the doorway of the library. "Angry at what?"

"At what I said. I know you're trying to keep it in, but I know you, Hawke."

Hawke shook his head. He leaned against the stone railing of the stairs, running a hand back through his hair. "No I'm not angry, Anders." Hurt. Disappointed. Mostly hurt. "I understand. You're still in love with him."

"That's not fair. It's not as if we parted on bad terms." Anders looked conflicted, shifting his weight from one foot then the other.

"I'm not angry," Hawke repeated. "I know what he meant - means to you."

"It doesn't matter," Anders whispered. He wrapped his arms around himself and looked away. "It's not as if…"

"If there was a way to reverse it, would you choose him?" The question wasn't a fair one, but Hawke felt he was owed the answer. It scared him how deeply he felt for Anders. Regardless of what his answer was, he wasn't going to walk away from him. He would still keep his promise. It would simply hurt more to be near him now.

"I don't know," Anders replied honestly. "I love him."

"And me?" Hawke prompted.

"Is that woman gone?" Leandra asked, appearing on the balcony. "Garrett, what was that about?"

"Chantry business, Mother. Nothing to worry about," Hawke said, eyes still on Anders. "I'll be going out later this evening."

"Does this have something to do with your mage?"

Hawke gripped the railing. "Don't worry about it."

"I think I need to. After all-"

Hawke whirled around, trying not to glare, forcing his voice to stay even. "Don't. Worry. I've got it under control. The less you know about it, the better."

Leandra frowned. "Very well. I'm going to get dressed for the market. Is there anything you need?"

He turned back to the library door which was empty now. "No. No, I don't need anything. I'm going to see Aveline."

"Tell her I said hello. Perhaps she can bring Donnic around for tea."

Hawke didn't correct her mother. Aveline had never been one for tea, after all. Without a second glance to her or the library, he left,needing time to process everything that was happening, and everything that was going to happen soon.


	14. Chapter 14

Neither Hawke nor Anders knew what to expect that evening. Hawke met with Aveline earlier, filling her in on what was happening. The templars and therefore the houses were out of her jurisdiction, but she agreed to set an extra patrol on the docks just in case. He saw Donnic and a few others he recognized as he and Anders made their way toward the ferry. The silence between them was awkward, Hawke thinking about the statement Anders had made. He understood how Anders must have felt. Being so far away from his father and sister, not knowing if they were all right save for the occasional letter, he knew how difficult it would be for Anders to be away from Karl. Regardless, it still hurt.

"We need to talk," he said, while they waited for Cassandra.

Anders pulled his coat tighter around himself, hands deep in the pockets. The salty sea wind rolled off the bay and he faced it, loose locks of hair playing around his face. "I'm sorry for what I said."

"No, you don't have to be. I understand. He means a lot to you."

Anders frowned. "It would be easier if he were dead. I know I seem a horrible person to say that. But knowing he's there but not… _there_."

Hawke remembered his reaction to the letter Karl sent stating that they should stop writing to one another. "If he had died, you would have had some kind of closure. I understand," he said again. "I know why you wouldn't want to leave him. And if I have anything to say about it, I'll make sure you don't get reassigned to another Circle. I would miss you."

Anders finally looked at him. He tucked the loose strands of hair behind his ear and forced a tight-lipped smile. "You are the best thing to happen to me in a long time. I would hate to lose you. But I'm a mage, Hawke. We don't get to choose our own paths."

"Maybe we can make real change here. Now. With the Seeker's help. She seems to know what she's doing. She has authority from the Divine herself."

"I can't be hopeful."

"Then I'll be hopeful for both of us," Hawke insisted, reaching out and taking Anders by the hand. He pulled him close, pleased when Anders allowed the embrace. They rarely were this affectionate with one another in public. However with the late hour and lack of ships in the bay, the docks were nearly empty. "I love you." The words took him by surprise. Not that they were there, but how easy they were to say.

Anders shook his head, resting against Hawke's shoulder. "Please don't say that."

"You don't need to say it back. Though someday I hope you will." He hugged Anders a bit tighter. "I promised you I would fight with you. This is it. The next step."

"Good, you are already here."

Hawke released Anders, looking over to see Cassandra and her apprentice. She glanced at the sword at Hawke's hip and nodded, pleased.

"I have gathered nearly a dozen mages across the houses here," she continued, waving them into the ferry. "They are currently in the city's jail."

"What?" Hawke asked, incredulous. "What for? What did they do?" He took Anders by the arm, preventing him from lashing out.

"Nothing," Anders said, eyes narrowed. "When has a mage ever needed to do something for them to be locked up?"

"Your point is noted," Cassandra said, nodding to Anders. "However these are mages who will potentially speak out against the templars here. They have made preliminary statements of being forced into the houses against their will. For their safety I have placed them with the captain of the city guard."

Hawke was suddenly glad he decided to give Aveline a heads up about the Seeker. No doubt he would've been hearing about it otherwise for weeks after the fact. "Aveline will take care of them," he assured both Cassandra and Anders. "She hates the houses."

"Most people with sense do," Cassandra said.

They fell silent as the ferry cut through the dark water, Cassandra leading the way into the Gallows when they landed. "I wrote ahead to meet with First Enchanter Orsino."

Hawke's hand strayed to the hilt of his sword as Knight-Captain Cullen approached, looking anxious.

"Seeker Pentaghast," he greeted. "Knight-Commander Meredith is currently in the city. We received word that you were coming-"

"You mean you read Orsino's letters," Anders interrupted. "As you always do."

Cullen looked at Anders, then back to Cassandra without acknowledging his accusation. "Mages are currently confined to quarters. Perhaps I could show you to the knight-commander's office to wait for her?"

Cassandra sized him up with a glance, then looked back to Daniel. She said something in Orlesian that Hawke only caught a few words of. It was a command, and Daniel nodded and returned to the ferry. "Yes," she said to Cullen. "Take me to her office."

Hawke wondered what was going on. Cassandra didn't strike him as a person who would deviate from her mission. If Orsino was confined to his quarters and Cullen had orders to keep her from him, chances were Orsino had evidence or at least could make a statement about the treatment of the mages in the Gallows. He exchanged a confused look with Anders and they followed Cullen further in. Meredith's office was familiar to him, though he'd never been inside without her standing opposite, giving him a dirty look.

"Knight-Commander Meredith will be here shortly. Feel free to have a seat," Cullen said, and closed the door behind himself as he left.

Cassandra immediately crossed to the desk, opening drawers and pulling out files. "Make yourself useful. We have limited time."

Anders started in at once, heading for a large wooden filing cabinet in the corner while Hawke gaped.

"I don't understand-"

Cassandra glanced up at him before looking back at the file she was reading. "I don't believe that the knight-commander will willingly give us what we're looking for. If she is as corrupt as you and Anders say she is, and I have spoken with enough mages for probable cause, then we need this time to prove it. I suggest you hurry."

Hawke took a pile of papers from Anders and sat, rifling through them. "Can't you just order her to give them to you?"

"And do you believe she would comply?"

Hawke realized she had a point. Cassandra was more adept at this than he was, after all. He flipped through files, looking for reports on mages in the houses, but there was one file in particular he searched for. _Hawke, Malcolm_ was in the second stack he looked through. Making sure that Cassandra's attention was diverted, he slipped it under his shirt.

"Here's mine," Anders said, holding one up. "'Voluntary relocation from the Gallows to the houses.'" He scoffed and put it in a growing pile of evidence that Cassandra set aside. "How many more will we find with the same lies?"

Hawke shifted another pile of papers, flipping quickly, pulling out the ones marked "Tranquil" or "Houses". He stopped suddenly, recognizing the name on one. _Thekla, Karl_ stood out like a sore thumb. He flipped it open and read.

_Senior Enchanter Thekla came to us from Kinloch Hold, Ferelden. Adept specifically with the spirit and force branches of magic, he's been teaching for roughly ten years in the Circles. Recommended one on one tutoring with some of the younger mages. Seems to be good with children._

He skimmed the rest of the profile, flipping to the reason for Tranquility.

_Found to be cavorting with another mage, strictly against Chantry law within the Gallows. I don't know what they allow in Ferelden's Circle, but here we've determined that interpersonal relationships among the mages leads to emotional outbursts, blood magic, and abominations. Recommended three months of solitary for both._

Hawke couldn't believe what he was reading. He assumed the other mage in the report was Anders. But to receive three months of solitary confinement for something as simple as a tryst? He thought about all his past lovers, other nobles or passing visitors to the city he spent a few nights with. While his mother would pressure him into meeting a nice young woman, he wouldn't be _arrested_ for his choice in lover.

The last paragraph detailed the reason for Karl's Tranquility. "Seditious activity" was mentioned twice, but no evidence was presented. It was signed by Ser Otto Alrik and approved by Meredith herself. He felt sick looking at it and glanced to Anders who was working quickly, back turned toward him. Hawke decided not to point the file out to him and instead put it on the pile with the others, covering it immediately with another suspicious folder.

The door opened. They looked up to see Meredith in full armor, taking in the scene.

"What exactly is going on here? Hawke, what are you doing in my office?"

"I can answer that," Cassandra said. She stood and waved Hawke away, moving between Meredith and the rest of the room. "I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of Divine Justinia, here to investigate your operations."

Hawke moved away, standing in front of Anders, who touched the small of his back.

"How dare you?" Meredith challenged, stepping forward.

Cassandra was shorter by a few inches but did not back down. Her hand rested easily on the pommel of her sword, a quiet threat. "I have the authority of the Divine herself. If you do not allow this lawful search, you will be detained."

Meredith held her gaze a moment. "Knight-Captain."

Hawke saw Cullen just beyond the doorway. He looked hesitant.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Escort Lord Amell and his mage whore from my office. See to it that they return to his estate."

"Hawke and Anders are assisting me," Cassandra said, putting a hand up to stop Cullen in his tracks.

Cullen looked between his immediate supervisor and the Seeker as if trying to determine whose authority he should yield to. "Knight-Commander, I believe the Seeker has the right-"

Meredith turned to glare at him. "Are you challenging me, Cullen? When I took you from the Fereldan Circle, I knew there would be issues but thus far you've surprised me. Do not make me regret this."

Cullen hesitated still. As much as he seemed to hate disobeying a direct order, he realized who outranked whom. "I'm sorry, Knight-Commander, but the Seeker's orders come from the Divine. I'm afraid that-"

Meredith grabbed the neck of his breastplate. At the same time, Cassandra performed a curious hand gesture. Hawke didn't recognize it, but Anders tensed as if he expected a swift punishment. Meredith shouted in pain and released Cullen, who stepped back, eyes wide.

"Knight-Commander," he said, sounding like someone who'd just learned his dog died. He didn't try to conceal the upset, betrayed look on his face.

"Assaulting a subordinate officer, obstructing him from doing his duty, and disobeying a direct order," Cassandra said, stepping forward.

Meredith backed into the hallway. Hawke watched Cullen's hand close around the hilt of his sword. Cassandra pulled her own.

"Knight-Captain - Cullen, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Cullen said solemnly.

"Put the Knight-Commander under arrest. To be held until I complete my investigation."

Meredith looked livid. She pulled her sword, pointed at Cullen. "I order you to stand down."

Hawke felt Anders next to him, waiting. Just out of view Hawke could hear the sound of plate mail, more templars arriving to see what the commotion was.

It happened in a flurry of steel. Meredith lunged forward but Cullen pulled his sword too late. He raised his arm to block the blow. The blade glanced his bracer but slipped, slicing into his cheek. Cassandra tackled Meredith to the blood-stained cobblestones. Anders moved before Hawke could stop him, leaping over the grappling women to grab Cullen, pulling him away from the fray into the room opposite. Meredith gained the upper hand, straddling Cassandra. She didn't hesitate, a gauntleted fist aimed directly for Cassandra's face. Cassandra blocked, the clinging of steel on steel. Hawke, shaken from the sudden shock of the fight, ran forward and grabbed Meredith under the arms, heaving her off Cassandra, heart pounding.

"Enough!" Cassandra shouted. She flicked her wrist and Meredith flailed in pain.

Hawke dropped her, backing away before he caught a fist in the face. Meredith lay on the ground, breathing hard, looking livid. Cassandra got to her feet, kicked away Meredith's blade and pointed her own sword tip to the knight-commander's throat.

"By Divine right, you are hereby relieved of your duties as Knight-Commander of Kirkwall's Circle. You will be bound and taken to Val Royeaux for trial."

Cullen, no longer bleeding openly thanks to Anders, emerged from Orsino's office, touching the still-tender wound on his face. Hawke looked from them to Cassandra, to behind her where templars crowded the hall. Another voice rang through.

"Make way. Get out of the way!"

It was Aveline, leading a small contingent of her guard, and Cassandra's apprentice, Daniel.

"Guard Captain," Cassandra acknowledged. "I trust you can handle the former knight-commander."

Hawke knew Aveline well enough that he could tell she was ecstatic by this news. The only indication however were the slightly upturned corners of her mouth and the triumphant gleam in her eye.

"Of course." She gestured to her men.

Cassandra moved aside, sheathing her blade as Aveline's guards hauled Meredith to her feet. Her shouted protestations faded as they dragged her out of the Gallows. Cassandra glanced down to the blood on the stones, then up at one of the templars who'd watched the entire thing.

"Clean this mess up," she ordered. "The rest of you back to your posts." They didn't move. "Now!"

Hawke watched them hurry into action before looking up at Anders. "Are you all right?" He shouldered past Cullen to take Anders by the arms, looking him over.

"I'm fine. Wasn't even hit," Anders assured him.

"You are to be commended for your swift actions," Cassandra said. "Both of you." She looked at Cullen. "I will speak with you momentarily. See to it that your soldiers are working to maintain order, _Commander_."

Cullen paled. "Yes, ma'am," he said, and hurried to comply.

Cassandra looked then to Daniel. "Gather a volunteer force with the commander's assistance. All Chantry houses are hereby shut down until further notice. The mages are to be returned to the Gallows to await questioning. We will get to the bottom of this."

"Yes, ma'am," Daniel said with a half-bow.

Hawke watched him leave then looked at Cassandra. "Just you and your apprentice going to handle this mess?"

"I will write to the capital." She sighed. "This is a lot worse than we thought."

"But you'll be able to get the houses shut down," Anders said hopefully.

"For the moment," Cassandra affirmed. She strode back into Meredith's office, Hawke and Anders following. "For permanent operations shutdown it will take time, effort, manpower."

"But you'll do it."

Hawke thought ordering the woman that just took down Meredith was a bit bold, but then he realized, that was Anders. All fire and passion. "How long will it take?"

Cassandra shifted a few folders and sat in the chair behind the desk. "Potentially months. The houses are integral to the flow of coin in many cities. But we will work to eradicate them. Now we have proof to launch a full scale investigation." She started to pen a letter. "Once we are able to shut down Kirkwall's operations, the rest of the cities will be much easier."

"And what of the Circles?" Anders asked. He strode forward, fists clenched. "Will mages still be locked up against their will? Simply for having magic?"

Hawke hesitated, then drew even with Anders. "The abuses of the Circles don't stop just with the houses. The Rite of Tranquility, beatings, sexual abuse. You can do something."

Anders looked surprised but pleased with Hawke's support.

Cassandra held Hawke's gaze, then looked at Anders. She sighed. "I can only say that Divine Justinia holds similar views. There is to be a meeting of the College of Magi in a few months. You will go and represent Kirkwall. Both of you."

"Me?" Hawke asked. "I'm not a mage."

"No, but you are in it now whether you like it or not. I will contact you both soon in regards to this. You'll leave with a small company of trusted templars."

"Ser Thrask," Anders said at once. "I refuse to work with any other."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow and Anders lifted his chin defiantly. "Very well. Is there anything else?"

Anders seemed surprised that she gave in so easily. "No. That's it."

"Then I will be in touch."

Hawke followed Anders from the office. "Well. Not exactly the outcome I thought."

"It's changing," Anders said once they reached the ferry. "Not quickly enough though."

"Short of painting the Gallows with templar blood, what else is there?" Hawke asked.

Anders looked at him seriously. "Perhaps that's what we need."

Hawke shivered, the intensity of Anders' stare a bit too much. He pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him. "One step at a time, all right? And if nothing comes of this then we can… I don't know. Blow it all up."

Anders let out a shaky laugh but leaned against him. "You wouldn't agree to that."

"Maybe. You don't know," Hawke said, pressing a kiss to Anders' cheek.

"Hawke, you are the least confrontational person that I know. You can't even tell your mother that you refuse to marry." He sounded pained. "You're going to go along with it just to keep things civil. You try, Maker knows you _try_ to make everyone happy. But you're the cook who refuses to break eggs to make an omelette."

Hawke started to respond, but fell silent. He wondered if there was truth to this. There was no reason for Anders to lie to him after all. Instead of telling his mother the truth, he simply backed down and attended the little soirees and parties she set up for him. When Anders requested to speak with Carver's mage companion, he waited until his brother was out of town rather than just requesting it of him. He had to be pushed into speaking with Sebastian and Elthina about the mages in the houses. And when it came to actually doing something about the mistreatment of the mages in Kirkwall, it was Anders who led the charge.

Perhaps it was how quiet he was as they stepped off the ferry and walked up the stairs to Lowtown but Anders started to apologize.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings-"

"You're right," Hawke said. He frowned, peering up at the steps to Hightown. "You're right," he repeated. "I have to make these decisions for myself. I wanted to help the mages but I didn't do anything about it. I'm going to." He pulled his father's file out of its hiding spot in his shirt. "Burn this for me."

"What-"

"My father's file. There's information that can implicate me in his escape. If the templars don't have this, they can't pursue a case."

Anders took it. In a flash of flame it fell to the ground, ash blown away by the light breeze. "It's certainly a start."

"That's not all," Hawke said, taking his hand. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" Anders asked, being pulled along.

"You're going to be there when I tell Mother I'm not going to get married." Hawke grinned back at him.

Anders laughed. "Oh Hawke."

"What?"

"Nothing," Anders said with an indulgent sigh. "Nothing at all."


	15. Epilogue

Hawke never had the pleasure of attending the College of Magi before. After meeting with the Divine, however, he thought this would be rather easy. Not that their discussion with Justinia was a hardship. Anders was eloquent as ever, angry as he spoke of the transgressions he suffered personally but angrier at those where he had to stand by and watch what happened to his fellow mages. A red-headed woman stood silently at Justinia's side while two scribes worked to keep up. Justinia listened quietly, asking thoughtful questions, and never seemed inclined to want to correct Anders or pretend as if these things didn't happen. She thanked them and pressed them to stay in the city before attending the College of Magi.

They continued to share a bed, but something unfinished clearly hung between them. As they traveled north to Cumberland, Hawke wondered what was causing the strange divide. He took a breath and reached out, sliding his hand over Anders' while the carriage rumbled over the cobblestones of the Imperial Highway. Anders entwined their fingers and held tight.

"Are you nervous?" Hawke asked.

"No. But I realize there will be quite a few who disagree with me. I'm not sure how many will even listen to me. I'm not even an enchanter."

"They will," Hawke assured him. "You have a way of making people listen."

Anders smirked. "That compliment from anyone else might sound like an insult."

"You stand out. You're different. You caught my eye the very first time I saw you." Hawke smiled when Anders blushed. "After this, we can only hope that you'll be free from the Circle. Free to do whatever you wish. Any ideas?"

"Continue to press forward," Anders said easily. "Many of the mages in the Circles haven't lived in normal society for decades. Longer. They have no idea how to handle themselves." He frowned. "That's assuming the Circles will secede from the Chantry and the templars will allow it."

"It's a hard road," Hawke acknowledged. "But I swear I will be with you every step of the way."

Anders squeezed his hand but said nothing.

Hawke reached up and cupped his cheek, turning Anders to look at him. "Anders. I love you."

Anders swallowed hard. "Hawke…"

"And I want to with you. For you. For as long as you'll let me."

"It's not going to be easy."

"Neither was telling my mother I was in love with you," Hawke joked.

Anders tried to keep from smiling. "You did hide behind me a bit."

"This will be far, far easier than that," Hawke assured him. "See? Confrontation and all. If you're willing to give me a chance."

Hawke waited, the tense moment hanging silently between them.

Anders nodded.

Hawke let out a breath, leaned in, and kissed him. As Anders returned it, Hawke thought back to the very first day he'd walked into the Rose and saw him there. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think he'd find someone like Anders there. Nor had he ever hoped for a future that didn't involve simply marrying and falling into a dull, daily routine. With Anders, he knew, life would definitely never be dull.


End file.
